Lost without Ana
by Aryea
Summary: Author Notes: So, Fifty Shades is not my usual fare, but I had to see what the fuss was about and in doing so ended up reading all three of the books in just under two days. I wondered what happened with Christian during the days without Ana and decided to try my hand at it. I really hope I did him justice, and if you think I did, feel free to review!
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to E.L. James

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AUTHOR'S NOTES: I hear a lot of people complaining that this series was poorly written or too graphic or whatever, but let's face it kids; E.L. James was a writer of fanfiction and she published three best selling novels. That's more than most of us can say. The character of Christian drew me in not because of his dominance and power, but his fragility, and I have been slightly obsessed about how he might have handled Anastasia leaving him in the first book. This is my attempt to explain it, and I hope you enjoy it.

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**CHAPTER ONE**

Christian awoke with a cry, wrenched from another terrifying dream, and reached out for Ana, but her side of the bed was cold. He sat up, ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his digital clock; it was only two in the morning. He'd been asleep barely an hour, but it had been enough to bring those wretched nightmares.

He reached for his blackberry and checked his texts, his heart sinking as he saw that there was nothing new from Anastasia. He bit his lip, hard, when he felt it quiver unexpectedly. No. He would not go there. She chose to leave. They always had a choice, didn't they? He always told her she had a choice.

He dropped the phone on the bed and lay back, tossing one arm over his eyes. Why had he listened? He knew that she wouldn't have been ready to handle a belt. She'd been horribly upset over just the first spanking. What the fuck had he been thinking?

He moaned and turned on his side, pulling the pillow beside him to his face and inhaling deeply. It still smelled of her. Sweet. Innocent. Pure. And you tried to destroy that, didn't you Grey? You and your sadistic tendencies broke her and chased her away.

He sat up and angrily threw the covers back to stalk into his bathroom. No! God damn it! She'd asked for it. She knew what he was when she agreed to the relationship. He'd held nothing back from her. He gave her full disclosure and if she wasn't ready for such things then it was up to her to tell him. She had safe words, she could have used them.

He switched the shower on, stripped off his pajama bottoms and stepped beneath the scalding spray, switching the dial to a brutal pulse, hopping it would pound some sense into him. He'd trusted her! He'd trusted her to use the safe words and she hadn't!

"Jesus, why didn't she use them?"

Why did you beat her, Grey? She said she loved you and still you had to break that perfect, pale skin of hers. Because you're a freak and a monster, that's why. You get off on hurting brown haired girls. You get off on controlling them and making them beg, like you watched the crack whore do for her john's.

"I can't control her," he muttered as he stuck his head under the merciless spray. "She just won't behave." And he didn't want her to. He was used to women listening to him, doing as he demanded, but Anastasia, she had no experience being a submissive. She didn't understand the word at all; even after he e-mailed her the exact meaning she couldn't grasp the concept of it.

"Why should she?" he asked himself as he slapped off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel to dry himself with. "She's not fifty shades of fucked up." Why should she understand his darkness when she was so full of beauty and light?

He stalked back into his bedroom and out of habit grabbed a set of business clothes from his closet. He was a business man and was filthy rich at only twenty seven. He didn't want for anything. He should have left his relationship with her as a business arrangement and if she wasn't up for it, well….There were plenty of women around that would be.

He paused as he pulled out the tie he had used to bind her hands when he had taken her virginity and slowly pulled it through his fingers in memory. He'd never made love to a woman before Anastasia, never had vanilla sex, and yet, it had been wonderful. It had been surprisingly satisfying, perhaps not to the degree of sex with his submissives, but it had fulfilled him in a way that he found…appealing.

He shook his head as he remembered her incredible response to his touch, the delicious feel of her skin and her unrivaled shock at her first orgasm. He felt himself grow hard at the memory, closed his eyes as his hands tightened on the grey tie and his breathing grew heavier.

A vision of her shocked, tearful face flashed before him and his eyes opened instantly. He'd hurt her, tainted her with his dark ways. She was better off without him. She was better off finding a nice, normal fellow, perhaps another college student who…His entire body stiffened with rage at the idea of Anastasia with another man and the need to hurt, maim or kill something filled him to the core.

Fuck! What was wrong with him? He didn't own her for Christ's sake! Oh, but he wanted to. He wanted to own her, to have her as his and no one else's. The thought of another man touching her, smiling at her, looking at her incensed him and he couldn't understand it.

Once he was finished with his subs he didn't really care what they did. Once the contract was over they were free to do what they wished and he never got emotionally attached. They did, sometimes, but that was the time when it would be ended. He didn't want emotional entanglements. He wasn't a hearts and flowers kind of guy and he never would be.

He tossed the tie to the floor of his closet in disgust and grabbed a blue tie from the spinning mobile overhead. He slapped it over his head and quickly knotted it around his collar. Fuck the tie. Fuck the hearts and flowers and fuck Anastasia Steele!

He shoved his feet into a pair of polished shoes and returned to the bed to snatch up his blackberry, then hated himself for checking his messages again. "Fuck!" He threw the phone across the room, furious. Why wasn't she contacting him? Even an angry message was better than nothing at all.

He was startled by the sound of Pink's 'Get This Party Started,' tingling from somewhere in the room. He searched everywhere for it, then finally found the phone under his bed' Anastasia's phone! He punched the incoming call button. "Ana?"

"Who's this?"

"This is Grey, who's this?"

"This is Kate. Where the hell is Anastasia?"

Christian's jaw tightened. "She's unavailable at the moment," he stated through gritted teeth. "Can I give her a message?"

"Why are you answering her phone?"

"It was ringing, so I answered," he snapped, startled at the sudden almost over whelming grief that stabbed through him. "I'll tell her to call you, Kate." He ended the call without saying goodbye and then stared at the phone dejectedly.

With a trembling hand he carefully placed her phone on the nightstand, _her_ nightstand, and rose. "Oh, Ana," he mumbled as he stared at his shaky hands and tried to breath through the panic and fear that assuaged him. "What have you done to me?"

With a heavy heart he walked across his room and picked up his own blackberry, refusing to check if there was a new message. He attached a holder to his belt and slid the phone inside of it, clipping it securely. Slipping on his watch, he lifted his head to stare at the mirror just over his dresser and barely recognized his own reflection. Dark shadows under his eyes, his face pale, his hair sticking every which way and the makings of stubble across his chin.

With a growl of determination he snatched a comb and pulled it through his hair until it was in strict order, then grabbed a tube of eye cream from a drawer and dotted under his eyes, smoothing it into his skin. It wouldn't do for the CEO of Grey Enterprises to look like he wasn't ready to do anything other than take on the world.

"Just another pretty face," he sneered. "A face only a mother could love." He continued to stare at his reflection, his expression growing darker and darker. A face Anastasia said she could love.

With a loud growl he smashed his hand into his reflection, shattering the mirror and slicing the skin across his knuckles, causing them to bleed. "Fuck!"

He walked into the bathroom, methodologically rinsed his hand ripped open his medicine cabinet applied ointment and then wrapped a gauze bandage around his fingers. What was a bit more pain, right?

He stepped out of his bedroom and headed downstairs. then paused as he passed the door to The Red Room and felt himself wince. Christ, Jesus what had he been thinking taking her in there? Ever? You miserable, selfish, sadistic, prick!

He hissed through his teeth, straightened his shoulders and moved into the kitchen, where Mrs. Jones was preparing breakfast. He settled on a breakfast stool and grabbed the cup of coffee she set in front of him, downing it all in one angry toss and ignoring the scalding to his tongue.

"Good Morning, Mr. Grey," Mrs. Jones greeted as she set his food in front of him.

"What's good about it?" His phone buzzed and he almost dropped it in his hurry to answer it. "Ana?" He scowled and his expression darkened. "No, that wasn't the agreement. Tell them they can take the offer as is or fly to Jesus! I'm not wasting anymore time! Just do it!" He ended the call then sat there staring at the phone morosely.

Please call me, he pleaded silently and hated himself for it. Please, please call me, Ana.

Mrs. Jones frowned. Mr. Grey was not one to ignore or waste food. "Are you okay, Mr. Grey?" She noticed his injured hand. "Sir, can I do anything for you?"

He glanced at her, as if noticing her for the first time. "What?"

Mrs. Jones bit hard on her cheeks to keep from scowling in disapproval, whatever had happened to make this tough, controlled man look so…uncertain. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

He shook his head, set his blackberry back in the holder and picked up his fork. "I'm fine." He went through the motions of eating, but tasted nothing. For the first time in his life he had to force himself to eat and that alarmed him. Finally, he pushed his food away, only half finished. "Tell Taylor I'll be ready to leave in five minutes."

Mrs. Jones gaped at him. Christian Grey _never_ left food on his plate. Ever! He had a strict policy of always eating everything he was given and never turning away food when someone else might be starving. "I…yes, sir."

Christian walked into his study to collect his briefcase and then stared at the glider that Anastasia had left for him. He'd put it together last night, all the while telling himself she'd be back. But she hadn't come back and now, it was all he had left of her. His fingers traced the wings of the tiny plane as he remembered her excitement that day. He couldn't do hearts and flowers, but he had tried.

Why couldn't she just accept him as he was? Everyone else respected his boundaries, his rules, why couldn't she? Even his family didn't chose to defy him, well except Mia and she was a force onto her own. She respected nothing, but that was okay. Every one else respected his need not to be touched, respected his need for control.

Granted, his family didn't know about his sex life, and thought he was gay, at least until his mother came for a visit while he and Ana had been in the midst of love making. He winced. There was that damn word again. He didn't make love, he fucked. They fucked. Just like he'd fucked Elena and his fifteen other submissives and God knew how many other women.

He dropped down in his chair, suddenly exhausted. What was wrong with him? Why was he doubting himself? Why was he lingering over a woman that obviously didn't want him and couldn't be what he needed? He stared out over the city, he had an amazing view from his home office, but rarely did he stop to enjoy it.

She was better off without him. He'd tried to warn her. Tried to tell her he was fifty shades of fucked up, but she chose to stay. She'd wanted to try and he chased her away because he couldn't control his own sadistic urges. How could he think for one minute that someone like her could ever want to stay with him?

_**'I've fallen in love with you Christian.'**_

Christian shook his head, but her confession continued to filter through his head. How could she say that? How could she love him? She was light and he was darkness. She was pure and he was evil. She deserved a knight in shining armor who could give her hearts and flowers and love making, not a fucked up, son of a crack whore who had no heart to give. Not someone who got off on beating women.

"Mr. Grey?"

Christian turned in his chair to face Taylor who was standing at the door of his study.

"Sorry, Sir. I thought you wanted to leave for the office? Shall I come back?"

Christian stared at his head of security. The man that he trusted with his life and most of his secrets. The man who had never let him down. Anastasia had taken a shine to Taylor, had taken the time to be friendly with him, and while Christian hadn't been thrilled with her choice, he realized no one else had bothered to do that before.

She didn't treat his employees as employees. She was kind and appreciative to both Taylor and Mrs. Jones, and she didn't need to be. Most women hadn't been. he hadn't been, usually.

"She likes you," he muttered sullenly, and knew instantly that he was jealous of that fact. Taylor was a stand up guy, an honorable man and fiercely loyal, and would probably be perfect for someone like Anastasia.

"Sir?"

"Anastasia." Christian glared at him. "She likes you. She was nice to you."

Taylor blinked, as if trying to decide how to approach the topic without setting off the beast. "I believe she likes you more, Sir."

Christian's shoulders slumped. "No. She doesn't. She hates me and I can't blame her."

Taylor bit the inside of his cheek, struggling for a reply. He'd never seen Grey this despondent, ever. "She seems to care for you a great deal, Sir."

"I fucked up." Christian shook his head as he pressed his lips with the tip of his finger, appalled when he spoke and his voice cracked. "I chased her away."

Taylor shifted uncomfortably, opened his mouth a few times then decided it was better to say nothing.

Christian cleared his throat, furious at himself and rose. "Well, anyway. I have some millions to make." He grabbed his briefcase and again his eyes caught sight of the glider. His expression softened as he picked it up with his free hand and carried it towards the door. "Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to E.L. James

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you everyone so much for all the great reviews. I am so happy you are enjoying it. I have stuck in my mind Flynn's comments to Ana hat Christian has the emotions of an adolescent, so perhaps you can understand why I write him with such confusion. I hope you enjoy this next installment, and if so, please say so!

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**CHAPTER TWO**

Christian entered his office at Grey Towers and dropped down at his desk. It was quiet here on Saturdays, most people were home spending time with their families, enjoying a quiet weekend, golfing. He had intended to spend his weekend with Anastasia but waking up without her with the knowledge of facing the rest of the day alone urged him to come into the office. He always had something to do, he was a busy man, and just because everyone else was off for the day, didn't mean he had to be.

He set the small glider Ana had given him on his desk where he could see it from any angle, then powered up his computer and checked his messages.

His cell phone rang and he grabbed it. "Grey."

"It's Welch, Mr. Grey. I have the information you asked for."

"And?"

"SIP, Sir. They've given her an offer and I believe she has accepted. She is to start Monday."

Christian closed his eyes in a mixture of relief, sadness and pride. "Good. I want a complete back ground check on everyone working there, ASAP."

"Yes, Sir."

Christian ended the call and then pulled open his desk drawer. Inside was a framed picture of Anastasia, her eyes closed, her wild chestnut hair splayed across the pillows and the sheets of his bed just barely hiding her firm, creamy breasts. He had taken the picture while she was sleeping and had it framed.

She was so beautiful when she slept, so at peace and innocent. And she spoke in her sleep sometimes, said things that made him wonder at the possibilities of being with her. Things that made him want to protect her but also, it warned him that he should set her free.

He traced his finger over the picture and felt an unfamiliar ache crawl up from his belly and settle in his throat. A lump the size of a baseball formed and he had to swallow several times to get it passed. "I miss you so much, baby," he whispered, just as his intercom buzzed. "Shit." He closed his eyes for a minute then reached over and pressed the button. "Yes?"

"I have a Mr. Howell asking to see you, Mr. Grey."

He sighed, wondered how the hell they'd known he was already in the building, then shook his head. Of course they knew, just like Tyler knew to call in a temporary receptionist for the day.

He lifted Ana's picture to his lips, kissed it, then slid it back inside his drawer. "Send him in and get Paul Thurston on the line, tell him I want to go ahead on the second publishing house."

"Yes, Sir."

He rose as a businessman walked into his office. "Morning Howell."

The other man nodded. "Grey."

"What have you got for me?"

"Just a chance to make twenty million."

Christian smirked and settled back in his chair; that was petty cash to him. "Let's hear it."

The rest of the day was a blur of business deals, meetings and conference calls. Christian got through it, but he was in a foul temper by the end of the day. Just because it was Sunday did not excuse the number of fuck ups he'd had to deal with. There were screw ups, missed opportunities and just shit excuses which he wouldn't tolerate. One thing he had to have absolutely control over was his business and when people tried to undermine him on his turf, heads rolled.

Granted, some of his anger was because of the issue with Anastasia, but he couldn't let his current upheaval affect business. That was rule one of being a successful businessman and when he'd received the background check on the employee's of SIP he wanted an offer made immediately for the publishing house.

It was the takeover of SIP had started the bullshit. When he put in for an emergency conference call, several of his advisors assured him that it was a waste of money and that if he wanted to expand into publishing, there were a number of higher, more successful companies out there.

Christian didn't like being dictated to. He was perfectly capable of doing his own research into a purchase, but he hired advisors because they made his life easier and also lent another opinion, when he wanted one. In this instance he didn't want one.

He knew he could make more money taking over a larger publishing house, but it wasn't about the money. If it was only about the money, he wouldn't have helped Elena open her salons; well actually he probably would have, but that was besides the point. He had been thinking of getting into publishing for quite awhile, and meeting Anastasia had renewed his interest.

So what if the company he bought was also one who employed her? He wasn't doing it for that. Well, he wasn't doing it _just_ for that. He had to be honest with himself, at least, that her working there had tipped the scales in his decision.

She wanted to work in publishing and he wanted to help her reach that goal. She got hired on her own and he was enormously proud of her for that, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with him purchasing the company, and perhaps creating a little job security for her future. Where was the harm? He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to be secure. How could he be faulted for that?

After a shit day at the office, Christian stopped off at Claude Bastian's for a work out, needing something to take the edge off, but even that had only ended up frustrating him.

He landed hard on his back for the forth time in an hour and lay there for a moment, panting. Furious with himself he rolled to his feet. "Again."

Claude shook his head, grimly. "Your head's not in this today, Grey. Take a break."

"Again, damn you!"

Claude sighed and attacked, Christian had him for half a second before he was able to twist, turn and drop the younger man on his ass again. He watched the CEO roll to his feet yet again and ready himself.

"Again."

Claude walked over and snatched a towel off the rack to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. "Maybe later."

Something wasn't right. Yes, he often beat Grey in hand to hand, the student had not quite surpassed the master, yet, but this was pointless. Grey always exerted control in his attacks and his defenses. He used his head and his technique, which was what made him such a remarkable student. Today he was all over the place.

"I'm waiting," Christian growled in warning.

"Look, if you want to get the shit knocked out of you, go mouth off at a biker bar, that's not what I do here."

"I pay you to fight with me!"

"You pay me to instruct and spar with you," Claude shot back, unimpressed. "We're not doing either today, so the lesson is over."

"I need to do this."

"You need to get laid or get drunk." Claude gathered his bag and water bottle. "Go do that, Grey. This is not the place to work out your personal shit."

Christian had too much respect for the other man to fire him, or even to chase after him and demand he continue. With a sigh he grabbed a towel and his bag and headed for the showers.

He had Taylor park outside Anastasia's apartment. Sawyer had been keeping watch since she left and Christian reasoned that just because they broke up didn't mean Ana couldn't still be protected, he could at least offer her that.

Sawyer had reported that he hadn't seen Anastasia leave since Taylor dropped her off on Friday, and that worried Christian. He glanced up at her window but couldn't see any lights on. Was she home? She didn't start work until Monday, and her friend Kate was out of town, so she should be home.

If she was home why were the lights off? Was she sleeping? It wasn't yet that late so he didn't think that was the case. Perhaps their power hadn't been switched on yet? Maybe he should call the electric company and…Suddenly a small light came on and he saw her at the window. She pulled aside the curtain and stared out.

The sight of her caused something hard to twist inside him. She looked so sad, even from here, and he could tell she had been crying again. He watched her put her hand against her pane and he mirrored her action against his darkened car window, wanting…. needing to touch her. To see her smile.

"Oh, Ana," he breathed and realized in that moment he would do absolutely anything for her.

Perhaps she was better off without him, especially if he made her cry. But she looked so sad, so miserable, as sad and miserable as he felt, perhaps? Was she reconsidering leaving him?

She'd said she loved him and that, while frightening, gave him hope. Hope? He shook his head. What hope was there that she would stay with him? He didn't have a chance in hell of being the man she needed, the man she deserved.

Finally, she turned away from the window and the apartment went dark again. Was she alone up there? Did she need him? God, he wanted her to need him. Maybe he should go check on her. Maybe she'd be happy to see him?

He slowly dropped his hand back to his lap. No. She'd said good-bye. He'd hurt her and she walked away. It was killing him to know she was up there alone and hurting, and that he was the cause of her pain. He needed to step back. He needed to leave her alone and let her get on with her life.

"Home, Taylor."

"Yes, Sir."

He fisted his hands on his lap as they pulled away and almost immediately his blackberry sounded. Hope surged again inside him as he grabbed the phone out of his holder. Had she seen him on the street? Recognized the car? Was she willing to talk?

"Grey!"

"Hi honey, how are you?"

His shoulders slumped dejectedly. "Hi Mom."

"What's wrong? You don't sound yourself."

He rolled his eyes. "I...I'm just tired."

"Oh, well I won't keep you long. I just wanted to remind you about the fundraiser."

"I have in on my calendar."

"Good. Will Anastasia be coming dear? She seems like such a lovely young girl."

Again his gut twisted. He wanted to tell her about Ana, he wanted…needed to know what was going on with him and why he couldn't seem to get a handle on anything since Ana left, but fear prevented it.

What if Grace told him that Anastasia was better off without him? What if she laughed and reminded him that no woman could stay with a man who couldn't be touched? Or worse…What if she offered to come by and comfort him, he couldn't handle that. He doubted if either of them could.

What if, while his defenses were in tatters, the woman he respected most saw him for what he was, a heartless, sadistic control freak who chased off the one woman he ever felt more that desire for? And he did feel more for Anastasia, so much more that it chilled him to the core.

"Christian?"

He pulled his mind back to the conversation. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Sweetheart, are you sure you're all right?"

No! "I'm fine, Mom."

"Okay. Will you be bringing Anastasia with you to the benefit then?"

"I…I'm not sure. She may have…other plans."

"Oh." After a long pause Grace continued. "Well, tell her we hope to see her soon then."

"Okay."

"Good night, Christian."

"Night, Mom." He rung off as they pulled into the parking garage of Escala and felt such rage rise within him he didn't even wait for Taylor to open the door for him. He bolted from the car as if he were being chased and stormed to the elevator.

Fuck! Why couldn't he have a normal relationship with Grace? Why couldn't he just let her come over and hug him and make him cookies and milk the way she had for Elliot and Mia?

He stepped, agitated, into the elevator with Taylor as his subconscious offered answers. Because you're a reject, that's why. A bastard son of a crack whore who would rather shoot up then spend time with her crying baby.

But he hadn't cried. He couldn't remember ever crying because any noise he made caused the crack whore to take more drugs and the pimp to curse and use him as a punching bag and ashtray. He wasn't strong enough to protect the crack whore, or himself, and now no one could touch him. No one could love him.


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: Fifty Shades Characters belong to E.L. James.

Thank you for the wonderful reviews. I hope you are all enjoying my take on Christian's emotional state after Ana has left him.

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**CHAPTER 3**

Christian stormed off the elevator and headed straight into his office, slamming the door behind him so hard it echoed through the entire apartment.

Mrs. Jones' eyebrows rose and she turned to the harried Taylor. "Tough day at the office?"

"You have no idea." He sighed and massaged his neck. "I've never seen him like this, Gail. I honestly thought I was going to need paramedics standing by in case he had a heart attack, or scared some poor bastard to death!"

Mrs. Jones' eyes widened. "He hardly ate any breakfast either. That's not like him. He is adamant about his meals and finishing a plate."

"I think it's because of Miss. Steele."

"They had a fight?"

Taylor nodded. "I'm not sure exactly what happened, but it must have been bad." He followed her into the kitchen and watched her pour him a cup of strong coffee. "He misses her."

"He's had plenty of women here over the years. I don't understand why this one is affecting him so."

"I don't either, but whatever the reason, he needs her. And, I think Anastasia Steele needs him, they're just fighting the draw."

"She certainly isn't his usual type." Mrs. Jones smirked. "Well, she is, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know and so does he. I think it's about time someone threw a wheel in his control rotors. That boy needs more, he deserves more."

"You like seeing him like this?"

"No. but anyone that can shake up Christian Grey the way Anastasia Steele seems to have done has my vote, one hundred percent."

"Taylor!"

Mrs. Jones grimaced. "A shook up Christian Grey is not on my Christmas list," she stated as Taylor rose and started towards the study. "Make sure you have all your fingers and toes when you come out! I'm rather fond of them, you know."

Taylor smiled and saluted her, then hurried into the study at Christian's second bellow.

Christian glared as Taylor entered. "Where the fuck were you?"

Taylor swallowed the sarcastic reply that immediately rose to his lips. "Sorry, Mr. Grey."

"Call Sam, tell him I want Charlie Tango ready to lift off at 0700 tomorrow."

"Can I advise him of the destination, Mr. Grey?"

"The pits of Hell," Christian muttered, because that where he felt he was. Trapped in a dark, fiery hell without any light or goodness.

"Shall I also arrange for some spare coinage for Charon then, Sir?"

Christian's gaze snapped up at Taylor's dead-panned comment about the ferryman to hell. His lips twitched. "Fuck, I don't know!" He dropped into his chair and ran his hand through his hair. "Washington is full of fucking dead-beats, so why not?"

Taylor allowed the smile to touch his eyes but not his lips. "I'll take care of it." Taylor started to step out and paused when Christian called his name again, softer this time. "Yes, Sir?"

"Am I…" Christian clamped his mouth shut, appalled at what he had been about to ask. Pain clouded his vision again as he thought of Anastasia standing at her window looking so sad, so forlorn. "That's all, Taylor."

Taylor nodded, stepped out and shut the door.

Christian stared at the closed door for several long moments, before rising and pouring himself a brandy. He wasn't normally a hard liquor sort of guy. He preferred wine, it allowed him to keep a semblance of control, but he had the harder stuff around for when his brother or father visited. Not that they did that very often.

Again he settled in his desk chair and, needing a distraction, turned on his computer. He scrolled through his E-mails, most of them work related, two from Elliot asking about a fishing trip and a forward from Mia. He deleted that one; she was always sending him the most stupid, absurd shit.

His finger continued to roll over the tiny wheel of his mouse and he started reading some of the past E-mails from Anastasia. He lingered and re-read the E-mail she sent him from the plane, on her way to Georgia. She had finally opened up and explained her feelings to him. It frustrated him that she couldn't speak to him directly about how she felt, but instead had to write it out in an E-mail.

She had written that he intimidated her, sometimes frightened her and that she could never tell if he was teasing her or serious when it came to comments about punishments. He supposed that might be difficult to figure, given he never used to 'joke' with anyone. Certainly he never teased anyone, well except maybe Mia, but Ana made it easy. Ana made everything easy.

He didn't want to frighten her. He didn't want to intimidate her, well, perhaps a little, but that was just so she would listen! He just wanted to protect her and she just wouldn't let him! She wanted more, and he couldn't for the life of him think of what more he could give. He was a lost cause, and a fool for ever thinking he could have a normal life with anyone.

Immediately he started to worry if she was eating enough and getting enough sleep. She always forgot, it amazed him how often she just forgot to eat. Maybe he should call her, just to say hello, check if she was eating properly? Maybe she'd let him take her to dinner and after wards…

He shook his head. No. What would be the point in that? She couldn't be with him. She'd said it herself, she couldn't be what he needed. He groaned and hung his head in his hands. "But you are what I need," he whispered. She was exactly what he needed from the first day she fell into his office. He was no good for her

His blackberry went off and this time he checked the number, it was business. "Fuck off!" he growled and tossed the phone on his desk in disgust. He wasn't a fucking robot! He couldn't be on twenty-four seven!

He rose, shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out over the Seattle skyline. It seemed darker, greyer than usual, even though the sun was setting and the sky was alight with color, it just looked dark to him. Perpetual night. Isn't that what people called Hell? Well, here he was, trapped inside with no goodness and no light and no way out.

The thought of spending the night, the week, forever without Ana was killing him and he couldn't for the life of him understand why. He'd only ever had submissives with him during the weekend, never during the week, and even then it rarely went beyond the ninety day contract.

But with Ana, he wanted her all the time, every day. He wanted to feed her, and bathe her and take care of her. He waited with baited breath for each time she smiled or laughed, and that look…that intense, surprised longing she had whenever he touched her, kissed her, fucked her…It was more than anyone had ever given him. She was more than he'd ever had, more than he had ever dreamed of having and he was…nothing.

All his possessions, all his wealth could not give him in a lifetime of what he felt with Anastasia in a day, an hour, a minute. Her smile lit up the room. Her innocence brought out his protective side and he wanted nothing more than to keep her safe and happy and fed.

She was always ready for him, their chemistry was beyond imagining and she had tried…tried to be what he needed her to be. He missed touching her. He missed her scent and waking up next to her. He was obsessed, that was obvious, although he rarely let his obsessions get the better of him. She did. She had gotten inside him, buried herself deep within his dark soul and now he was trapped; trapped and looking for her light, a way out of the darkness that he'd lived with all these years. She could lead him out of that darkness. She could do anything.

He stepped to the tall glass window and leaned his head against it, the cool of the pane added some relief from the fever he felt burning inside of him. There were a hundred things he could be doing, a dozen people he could be talking to, but he couldn't. For the first time ever he dreaded the idea of going to work tomorrow, of doing business. He walked back to his desk, and glared and blackberry with such loathing, such…hatred.

Fuck, Jesus! What was wrong with him! He loved owning his own company! He loved making money and wheeling and dealing and doing whatever the fuck he pleased! Now, all that he had done, all he had learned, all he had made of himself, seemed like nothing without having Anastasia to share it with.

Who was he kidding? Of course he was attracted to her, like a moth to a flame he was attracted to her light, her energy, her heart. He who had no heart, no light. He wanted what she had, but he didn't deserve to have it. He would never quote poetry or buy her flowers. He could never offer her a real relationship, full of friendship and laughter and sharing her with others. He didn't like to share. He never liked to share the things that mattered most to him. He was a cold, heartless, selfish bastard with a pretty face and a lot of money. No one could love him, no one should love him.

With a growl, he finished off his brandy then rose and poured another, just as there was a knock at his door. "What?" he snarled.

Mrs. Jones opened the door and stepped in with a covered dish and a glass of wine on a tray. "Your dinner, Mr. Grey."

"I'm not hungry." He returned to his chair and turned to look out at the skyline again.

Mrs. Jones blinked, stunned. "I...I'll just leave it here..."

He was out of his chair so fast he had the house-keeper backing up against the door, her hand to her chest. "I said I'm not fucking hungry!" He knocked the tray on the floor, scattering the dishes. "What is wrong with you fucking women that you don't listen?" He threw his glass against the wall, furious. "Why can't you just do as you're fucking told?"

Mrs. Jones was appalled at his behavior. In all her years working for him, he had never yelled at her. Other people yes, he had his share of tantrums, but never had he raised his voice to her. She steeled herself and crouched to pick up the broken plates. "I...I'll just clear this up, Mr. Grey."

"Leave it, damn you!"

She rose and locked her trembling hands behind her. "As you wish, sir." She turned on her heel and walked out, quietly closing the door behind her.

Christian's blood ran cold as he was again left staring at a closed door and suddenly felt his knees collapse beneath him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his entire body shook with grief and his throat tightened inexplicably. His vision blurred and he felt his nose start to run.

What was happening to him? What was wrong with him? Was he getting sick? He maintained a strict regime of healthy food and exercise to avoid illness! Now, on top of all this other shit, he was catching a fucking cold? His stomach clenched painfully, as if someone had kicked him, hard and despite his best attempt he did not have the strength to get off the damn floor.

"W...what..." He didn't understand what was happening. He couldn't comprehend what all this agony and nausea and discomfort was. And then, a sob exploded from him and he was so appalled he stopped breathing all together for several seconds. "No! No, I...I don't..."

He felt something slide down his cheek and started shaking even more. He didn't cry! He never cried. "Ana!" he croaked hoarsely. Taylor! Gail! Mom! Someone help me! His silent pleas went unnoticed, for he could not get the words past the gut-wrenching sobs that had overtaken his body.

Mrs. Jones stood outside Christian's office door and wiped at her own tears as she listened to the sounds of a broken man. She wanted to go back in, to comfort him, but she worried that would devastate him more.

She spotted Taylor and waved to him. He crossed to her and scowled a he listened to the sounds inside he office. "Go to him," she whispered and watched Taylor shake his head. "We can't leave him like this!"

"He'd never forgive us if we saw him this way, Gail." He took her arm and pulled her away from the door. "We need to leave him be."

"But he needs someone! He needs..."

"He won't accept anything, and you know it." Taylor growled in frustration. "Just...let him be. There is nothing we can do; nothing he would allow us to do that would help."

"We...we could call Dr. Flynn?"

Taylor nodded grimly. "I already have, he has an appointment first thing in the morning."

Christian had curled up in a fetal position on the floor beside the broken plates and scattered bits of pasta. It seemed to take forever for the crying to stop and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't find one drop of his rigid control to hide behind.

He had been stripped bare and as he lay, gasping to catch his breath from the horrible draining experience, he realized that he had just experienced another first. "Fuck me," he whispered as he slowly sat up and ran a shaky hand across his wet face. "Oh, Ana. What did you do to me?"

He took several deep breaths and ran his hands through his hair, then drew his knees up, crossed his arms and set his head upon them. He sat there for several more minutes, gently rocking himself, the way he remembered his mother rocking Mia when she had cried, and pulling at his hair.

He had a sudden, desperate urge for his mother to be there, to be held by her, but the instant the thought crossed his mind the fear took over. He realized how pointless it was to wish for something he couldn't have. His mother couldn't touch him. No one could touch him. He continued to rock for a long, long time, before finally rising to his feet and gathering the food from his supper.

Mrs. Jones glanced up from where she was washing the pot she'd used for the pasta as Christian walked towards her, hesitantly, carrying a tray of broken dishes and food. His beautiful face was streaked with tears, his hair in disarray and his skin unbelievable pale.

Her heart tore in half at the sight of such a strong man falling so deeply into sorrow and she rounded the breakfast counter to meet him half way. "I'll take that, Mr. Grey."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Jones," he offered softly. "I...I didn't mean to make a mess."

Oh, God, an apologetic and remorseful Christian Grey was almost as terrifying as a crying one. "I never liked this set anyway," she returned and set the tray on the counter. "I've put the pasta in the fridge so if you get hungry later..."

"I...I'll eat now," Christian offered, but it seemed more of a question than a statement. "I...I should eat."

Mrs. Jones nodded in approval and hurried to fix him a plate as he settled at the breakfast bar. She grabbed a soft kitchen towel and ran it under the hot water for several minutes, before handing it to him. "In case you'd like to rinse your hands."

Christian released a shaky breath and picked up the towel, wiping it over his hands, then held it against his face for several seconds, which seemed to relieve some of the stiffness from his tears.

Mrs. Jones set a plate in front of him, and a glass of wine. "If you're going to throw this one, aim for that wall. It could use some color."

He managed a small smile for her, and surprised them both by catching her hand before she moved away. "I..." She knew. He knew that she knew he'd lost control, but somehow, he wasn't as embarrassed as he thought he would be. He squeezed her hand once before picking up his fork. "Thank you, Gail."

Mrs. Jones flushed with pleasure and returned to washing her pot. When he was almost finished his pasta, she managed to slip a piece of garlic bread onto his plate and he obediently ate it.


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to E.L. James

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**CHAPTER FOUR**

Christian headed into his bedroom, suddenly beyond tired, even though it was barely seven in the evening. He stripped out of his suit and dutifully put it in the laundry, then walked into his closet to hang up his tie. He noticed that the grey tie, Ana's tie, had been replaced on the rack and he fingered it with longing.

Turning away he saw that there were clean crisp sheets on his bed and the mirror over his dresser had also been replaced. Mrs. Jones was very efficient. He should give her a raise.

Naked, he walked into his bathroom and started the water for a bath. Watching the tub fill brought back vision's of Anastasia's first night with him, and releasing a startled painful cry he pulled the plug and slapped on the shower instead.

He pulled off the wrapping over his hand, saw that while his knuckles were still a little bloodied and scraped, most of the swelling had gone down. He stepped inside and washed off mechanically, his movements that of necessity rather than leisure or enjoyment.

He heard his phone ringing and quickly wrapped a towel around his waist as he ran back to his bedroom to grab it off the dresser.

"H…hello?"

"Christian?"

He closed his eyes again and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Hello, Elena."

"You don't usually answer the phone that way. Are you okay?"

He shook his head. "No." He wasn't okay. He wasn't okay at all.

"Christian! What's happened? What's wrong?"

"I…" He started to pace. "I lost her."

"Lost who?"

"Anastasia."

There was a moment of silence and then Elena spoke again. "What do you mean you lost her?"

"She…she left me."

"Well, that happens, just find someone else."

Christian gritted his teeth as a sharp, invisible pain stabbed him in the gut. "I don't…want anyone else."

"Oh that's nonsense. Now I know a girl who would suit your needs perfectly and…"

"You're not my fucking pimp Elena!" he snarled and was immediately sorry for it. She was only trying to help. She was his only real friend. "I…I'm sorry. I'm…This is bothering me more…more than I thought it would."

"Oh Christian!" Elena gasped. "You actually cared for her, didn't you?"

Christian gritted his teeth and remained silent. "She deserves better than me. She…I can't be what…what she needs."

"Of course you can, darling! Why would you say that? You're a wonderful man, a kind, generous person. Why can't you see that?"

"I'm not!" He couldn't hear that. Not now. Not when the fragile thread of hope he'd held onto that Anastasia would learn to appreciate his ways, his needs, and would stay and let him take care of her, the way she deserved to be taken care of was unraveling before him. "She thinks I'm a monster!" And she was right. He was a monster.

"That is simply not true! She knew what she was getting into, Christian. You always give full disclosure, and if she can't handle it well then, fuck her. We can find you someone else. Someone more suited to your special needs…"

"My needs? _My_ fucking needs. What about her needs? Doesn't she count?"

A slight pause. "Does she count, Christian?"

He groaned in bitter agony. "Why do I have to be this way? Why can't I be normal?" He would never regret his relationship with Elena, and he didn't understand Anastasia's aversion to it, but sometimes he really wished he had just walked away and never had the experiences she'd given him.

"Christian, there is nothing wrong with how you are; how we are."

"I know."

"Millions of people are the same way."

"I know."

"At least we're honest about who and what we are, right?"

"I don't feel…right, Elena. I…I don't know how I feel." He ran his hand through his hair again. "I hurt her." I really hurt her and…I can't…I can't ever go back from that."

"How did you hurt her?"

Visions of Anastasia stretched out and him bringing the belt down across her perfect, pale flesh flooded his mind and his reaction was almost immediate, arousal. Yet, then he saw her tears, her horror, her fear and his desire instantly cooled.

"It doesn't matter." Nothing matters now.

Elena was quiet for a long moment, then finally said. "Would you like me to come over?"

"No." His sexual relationship with her ended years ago, and while she occasionally offered to renew it, he honestly had no desire to sub for her, or even fuck her for that matter. "I just want Ana."

"Oh honey. What can I do? I've never seen you like this. Have you spoken with Flynn?"

"No."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe."

"Perhaps I should call your Anastasia and explain…"  
"No!" Memories of Ana calling Elena Mrs. Robinson quickly entered his mind. "She…she doesn't understand about us. She doesn't. That wouldn't help."

"Christian, we're friends, and business partners. Surely she doesn't expect me to stop seeing you?"

"No." At least he didn't think Ana would want that. "It doesn't matter."

There was a long pause, and then Elena said. "If you really want her back, then get her back, Christian."

"I can't!"

"Of course you can! She's a woman, just like any other. Send her some flowers or something with a card that says you're sorry and you want her back."

"I can't! I'm not…that guy…"

"For God's sake, Christian, it's a few flowers and an apology not a baptism into a cult. She is probably just as miserable as you are, darling."

"What if she says no?" He couldn't handle being rejected again, not by Anastasia. "What if she wants nothing to do with me?"

"Then she's a fool and you're better off without her."

"I…I don't want to be without her."

"Oh, my poor baby. You're in love with her, aren't you?"

"No!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Christian…"

"I'm not capable of that, Elena."

"You've no idea what you're capable of, but I can tell you what I'm capable of. I'm capable of tracking down this bitch who has hurt you and beating the shit out of her!"

"Stop! Don't say that!" The idea of Elena hurting Ana, of allowing his sweet, lovely girl to be touched by Elena's beastly fury, enraged him. "Don't you even think about touching her, Elena or I'll fucking ruin you! You won't have a fucking pot to piss in! Are we clear?"

"Jesus, Christian! I..." Elena swallowed, hard. "What has this girl done to you?"

Christian curled his hand into a fist and tried to pull back from the turmoil and fury that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew Elena was just being protective, she always had been. "I...Nothing. I'm sorry. I just...I hurt her, Elena. Badly."

"And she's obviously hurt you, so now you're even." Elena sighed. "Christian, this isn't like you. You're better than this."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Anyway, I won't argue. Go talk to Flynn and send Miss Thang some flowers. It will work out for the best, I promise you."

Christian was silent but was considering her words.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come over?"

For half of an instant he wanted to say yes. Anything, any distraction would be better than facing another night, alone, without Ana. "No. I'll be fine."

"Call me if you need me."

"I will. Bye." He hung up and tossed the phone on his bed as he dropped down upon it and lay back to stare up at his ceiling.

He reached for his blackberry and, without sitting up and started to type an E-mail.

**From**: Christian Grey

**Subject:** I miss you

**Date**: June, 2011 20:02

**To**: Anastasia Steele

_My Dearest Anastasia,_

_I miss you. I cried today. I have never cried before, that I can remember, but I cried today and I believe that it was because of you. _

_I am so sorry I hurt you. I know I am 50 shades of fucked up, but I can be better. _

_I want us to try again. Please tell me this can be salvaged. I am empty without you. _

_I need you. You are the light in my darkness. Please, please write me back._

_Christian Grey_

_Fucked Up CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc._

He held his phone to his chest and waited and suddenly heard the familiar ping of Anastasia's phone. He glanced at her nightstand, horrified. No! Fuck! He'd forgotten that she'd left it. Fuck! God Damn! Sonofabitch!

He moved across the bed, snatched it up and then quickly deleted it from her messages. What was he thinking sending her that? Christ Jesus what was wrong with him?

Again he felt the unfamiliar sting of tears against his eyes and he put his fists against them, pressed any possible moisture away until he was sure there wasn't the slightest chance that it would get through.

He rose finally and looked around the bedroom for whatever else she might have left. He spotted her Mac Book as well by the window still in its carrier. Damn it all! These were her things! Why didn't she take them?

Because she doesn't want anything to do with you anymore, that's why. Because you're fucked up and she knows it and she's smart enough to run away.

With a groan he changed into a pair of pajamas and a T-shirt and stepped out of his bedroom, he couldn't stand being in there any longer. Her scent was everywhere, the memory of her was everywhere.

He moved into the great room and sat at the piano, he always played when he needed to regain control. he used the music to filter his emotions, to free him from their unforgiving hold, and yet as he sat there, touching the ivory keys, he couldn't think of a single song to play. He remained on the bench, stone still as a hundred song opuses and masterpieces flooded his mind, yet the moment he touched the piano keys they disappeared.

"Fuck!" he slammed his fists on the keys, furious, frustrated and so very, very frightened. He started to laugh, because the other option was far too frightening, and because the insanity of his predicament was so beyond measure he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't remember how to play the fucking piano. Another first.

Running his hand over his face, he rose and grabbed the stereo remote that was hooked up to his IPOD. He needing something to help him out of this melancholy, rage induced, self-loathing. He settled on Witchcraft and flopped down on the sofa, pulling his feet up he wished Anastasia was curled up on his lap.

**_Those fingers in my hair_**  
**_That sly come hither stare_**  
**_That strips my conscience bare_**  
**_Its witchcraft_**  
**_And I've got no defense for it_**  
**_The heat is too intense for it_**  
**_What good would common sense for it do_**  
**_Cause it's witchcraft, wicked witchcraft_**  
**_And although, I know, it's strictly taboo_**

Christian felt that horrifying swelling in his throat again, as he realized how much the song reminded him of Anastasia. Was there nothing for him now? No peace from her? Instead of turning off the music, he curled up on the sofa, into himself and listened with a heavy heart well into the wee hours, before finally, drifting off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer: All characters belong to E.L. James.**_

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**Author's Notes:** Thank you again everyone for reviewing! I was so very nervous about writing this and your overwhelming acceptance of my work has filled me with surprised delight.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter as much as the last few. I must have re-written it at least three times as it wasn't quite what I wanted it to be. It still isn't, but if I tweak it anymore it will change the entire context. Please feel free to let me know how you like it and thank you again for all the fantastic support!

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**CHAPTER FIVE**

Christian sat glaring at Dr. Flynn defiantly. "Let's hurry this up, I have things to do."

He'd had to cancel the flight in Charlie Tango when Taylor advised he had an appointment with Flynn. He couldn't remember requesting it, but his mind was so chaotic these last couple of days it was entirely possible he had forgotten about it. He could have ignored the appointment, but he'd only hear about it in his next session and he simply wasn't in the mood to deal with that.

"It's your dollar, Christian."

Christian set his chin on his fist and crossed his ankle over his knee. He had not slept well. His dreams had been filled with nightmares of the crack whore and of losing Ana.

He had been pissed that he had fallen asleep on the sofa. Pissed that his strict control had been screwed with and that he couldn't even sleep in his own bed because of some woman.

"I'm not in the mood to talk."

"That's up to you."

He sat in sullen silence again.

"How did you scrape your knuckles?" Flynn inquired, hoping Christian's answer wasn't that he'd started brawling again.

"I put my hand through a mirror."

"Why?"

"I didn't like the look of it." Or the reflection inside it, he added silently.

"I see." Flynn paused and picked up the small slinky he often used to fiddle with. "How is work?"

"Fine."

"Your parents?"

"Fine."

"Mia and Elliot?"

"Are we here to discuss my issues or my fucking family?"

Flynn didn't even flinch, just continued to let the coils of the plastic slink go from one hand to the other. "You have many issues, Christian. Where would you like to start?"

Christian felt his hands start to curl into a fist again and willed them to lay straight as he crossed one hand over another. He'd finally managed some level of control this morning, he would not lose it now, and he was used to Flynn's methods.

"I know what you're doing," he stated coldly.

_Slink. Slink. Slink_. "It's pretty obvious."

"It won't work."

_Slink. Slink. Slink_. "What won't work?"

"I'm not taking the bait." Christian wanted to rip that damn toy out of the other man's hands, but maintained his control.

"Speaking of fish, I caught a twenty pounder over the weekend."_ Slink. Slink. Slink._ "How was your weekend?"

Christian responded before he could stop himself. "Anastasia left."

"Did she?"

"Yes."

"When was this?" _Slink. Slink. Slink._

"Will you fucking put that thing down!" Christian barked; his nerves coiled as tightly as the damn springs of the toy.

Flynn set the slinky on his desk and shrugged. "All you had to do was ask."

Christian glowered at him, mutinously and again felt his control start to slip. No, damn it no! He wasn't going to do this! He wasn't going to talk about Ana and he wasn't going to lose control!

"When did Anastasia leave?"

"She…" His voice cracked and he fisted his hands. God damn it! What was he, thirteen? He cleared his throat, determined. "Friday."

"Why?"

Christian shrugged, too ashamed to admit that he had been the one to chase Ana away. That he had been the one to hurt her, when all he really wanted to do was protect her. "She wasn't under any obligation to stay."

"I thought she was?"

"No!" Flynn knew about his arrangements with women, perhaps not the gory details, but he knew what Christian's tastes were and how he found companionship. I…we….she never signed a contract." He hadn't needed her to. He'd accepted her word, and then she broke it at the first sign of trouble she ran. "She couldn't handle…" Him? His fucked up needs? Life in the dark lane? "The situation."

"You explained everything to her, didn't you?"

"Yes!" Christian snapped and rose, agitated, as he often did when being forced to face things he'd rather forget. "I laid it all out for her, in fucking triplicate. I showed her my playroom. I told her what I wanted. I let her do her fucking research and take her time deciding and she said she was ready. She said she'd sub for me!"

"And then she changed her mind."

"She had no fucking right to change her mind! She already agreed, God damn it! What kind of fucking game was she playing to let me….and then to…" He spun around his eyes wild his hands fisted in his hair. "Jesus, doc, I fucking slept with her!"

Only years of experience kept Flynn from showing his surprise. Christian Grey did not _sleep_ with anyone, ever. He started to smile and then quickly schooled his features, knowing that would set Christian off further. "Where did you sleep with her?"

Christian stared at him dazed for a moment as he struggled through his torment and confusion for the answer. "In…in my bed." The same bed he now couldn't sleep in by himself. He slumped in the chair and hung his head. "What the fuck was I thinking?"

"I don't know. What were you thinking? You said before she was a virgin. Do you feel guilty for taking her innocence, Christian?"

"I…I don't know. I didn't think so. She was willing, we both…" Christian shook his head. "I didn't mean it," he whispered. "She…she was just so…" He closed his eyes and again remembered the feel of Anastasia in his arms. "She needed me to stay. I…I always try to…to meet the needs of my subs and…and she…she needed that….touch afterwards."

"You could've lain with her until she went to sleep and then left."

"I…I did, at first I…I couldn't sleep beside her. I got up and I went to play the piano, but I guess I woke her." His voice grew softer as he remembered the vision of her standing in the great room, watching him, wearing just his shirt. "I didn't mean to wake her."

"So why didn't you put her to bed in the guest room?"

Christian shook his head and lifted his eyes to Flynn's, desolate, confused. "I didn't want to."

"You wanted to sleep beside Anastasia. You wanted to sleep with her, in your bed."

Christian's eyes widened, stunned. "Y….yes."

Again Flynn had to bite back a smile and bury the urge to pump his fists in the air. For so many years this young man treated women as objects to be played with. Yes, he was good to them, cared for them in his own way, but he never let it go further than sex and some natural pampering.

Christian never allowed anyone to intrude on his personal space, not his employees, not his family, certainly not his subs. And then came Anastasia. Now it seemed this young woman was trampling all over Christians space, shattering his control, making him feel things he didn't understand and the poor bastard didn't have a clue what was happening to him, how he let it happen to him.

"Perhaps you don't think of Anastasia as just another sub?"

Christian met his gaze, bewildered. "Of course I do. What…what else can she be?"

Flynn linked his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "What do you think she can be?"

Christian shook his head. "Nothing. I…I don't know anything else. She can't be anything else."

"Why not?"

Christian bit his lip and glared at Flynn. "You know why not. I'm not….capable of anything else. I'm not made for…for hearts and flowers."

"Not all women need hearts and flowers. Offer her something else."

"What?" Christian barked, tossing his hands out. "Jewelry? Clothes? A Car? I've given her all these things! She doesn't want any of it! She fights me every time, even over feeding her. She's so stubborn and pig headed and…" Beautiful, and compassionate, and sweet, and innocent and…Again his hands fisted in his hair. "FUCK!"

Flynn smiled then, because that meant that Anastasia could not be bought, bullied or intimidated by Christian's wealth, something that Christian would find very difficult indeed. He assumed no one could love him, so it was easier for the young CEO to buy respect and attention. It was so much harder when his money couldn't get him what he wanted, when he wasn't the one in control.

"What do you want, Christian?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you want from your relationship with Anastasia?"

"I don't have one. She left me!"

And that was the center of his fury and confusion, Flynn realized. It was always he that ended the relationships, both business and personal. It was always him that maintained control over those around him to give him exactly what he demanded.

For anyone, least of all a young, inexperienced girl fresh out of college to walk out on Christian Grey was an insult to his wealth, a dismissal of all he accomplished and a severe kick to his ego. Above all it took away his control, something he rarely, if ever relinquished. No one walked out on Christian Grey. No one said no to Christian Grey, ever.

Yes, Flynn decided, he liked this Anastasia Steele. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

"There is nothing I can do! She left me! What part are you having trouble with?" Christian growled. "Do I not pay you enough to have your hearing checked regularly, or do I need to hire someone who has a half a fucking brain in his head?"

Flynn chuckled. "No one else would put up with your bullshit."

"But you do? Why? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why can't you just cure me or fucking kill me and get it over with?"

Flynn shrugged, unaffected. He was used to Christian's outbursts. "It doesn't work that way."

Christian slumped in the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. "Waste of time, that's all this is."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I could give a fuck about your question."

"I know." Flynn shrugged and settled his hands across his stomach. "But we've still got thirty minutes left, so we may as well talk about it."

Christian remained stubbornly silent for a good ten minutes and Flynn patiently waited. "I fucking hate you."

"I know."

Christian groaned. "I miss her."

Indeed. That was good news. "So tell her."

"She hates me."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No."

"What did she tell you?"

Fear quickly replaced anger. "She...she...She said she...loved me."

Flynn sympathized with the disbelief in Christian's voice. "Did she now?"

"You...you can't possibly condone that! She...she's just confused, she..."

"What if it's true?"

"What?"

"What if it's true that she loves you?"

Stark panic glowed in Christian's eyes. "She can't!"

"Why?"

"I…I'm not good for her. I can't give her what she…what she needs."

"And what does she need?"

"Someone normal. A vanilla relationship, with romance and talking and all the shit that I know nothing about."

"You've never been one to back down from a challenge before."

Christian glowered at him. "This is different."

"Why? How do you know you can't give her that kind of relationship?"

Christian gaped at Flynn. "Do you even read your own fucking notes? Do you not realize how fucked up I am?"

Another shrug from Flynn. "Compromise then."

"How?" Christian demanded, angrily. "I need control. I need her to obey and to…to let me do certain things or the…." The darkness in him will be released and God knew what would happen then. "I need the things I need."

"Do you need them?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

Again Christian seemed confused by the question. "It's what I know. It…it's how I am!"

"Have you taken Anastasia into your playroom since the relationship started?"

He flushed. "Yes."

"And is that why she ran?"

He paused. "Yes…" But only after the belt, he reminded himself. She seemed fine with the other times. "The…the last time she…she ran."

"Why?"

"I hurt her."

"Why?"

"She asked me too."

"She asked you to hurt her?"

He shook his head and stared at the floor. "I…I got carried away."

"But she asked to play a scene with you?"

"Yes…sort of." Christian squirmed in his seat as shame filled him. "She…she wanted to know if…if she could handle the…the worst of the pain."

"So what did you chose to test her?"

His next words were almost inaudible. "A belt."

"And she didn't handle it well?"

He shook his head.

"And you hurt her?"

He nodded.

Flynn considered that for a moment. "Well, shouldn't the onus be on her as well for asking you to do something she wasn't ready to do?"

"Yes. No." Christian shook his head. "I don't know. She thought she could handle it. I…I hoped she could handle it, but she didn't…" He bit his lip again. "I know it hurt her, I wanted to hurt her, needed to, but…I got caught up and… she…she didn't use the safe words and…and she wouldn't let me take care of her after. I could have made it better. I could have…That's my job as her Dom to…to take care of her."

"She didn't understand your roll?"

Christian shook his head again. "She cried. She was hurt and…and so….shocked and…" He ran his hand through his hair. "She hates me."

Flynn sighed. Christian believed everyone ended up hating him at some point, and the horrible part was, he believed he deserved to be hated. It seemed he went out of his way to make people either hate or fear him sometimes and it was frustrating as hell because this young, wounded boy had so much more to give.

"Did you think of your birth mother when you were beating her?"

Christian remained silent.

"Christian?"

"She's not the crack whore. She's not like the others."

"What is she like then?"

Christian closed his eyes, anguish lining his usually cool and restrained features. Beauty. Light. Soft and…and generous. God, Ana was so damn generous. "She gives me everything of herself, every time," he murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice. No one had ever done that. "No one has ever trusted me that much unless I…"

Christian squeezed his hands together over his knees, until his knuckles turned white. Everyone else had to be trained to obey and trust, or already understood that clause in the contract. Even then, they never gave him everything until he had stripped them of their identity and their sense of propriety and reason and replaced it with his own needs, his own expectations.

"So she trusts you?"

"No."

"No?"

He shook his head. "She should have used the safe words," he whispered agonized. She should have trusted him to stop, but she hadn't and that in turn betrayed his trust in her, to tell him to stop. "She doesn't understand. She has all the control." She always did and Christian needed her to tell him to stop. Needed her to tell him what she wanted because otherwise the darkness claimed him fully and there was no going back.

"So, it's over then."

Christian nodded.

"And you're okay with that?"

A long pause and then Christian quietly responded. "No."

"So, we're back to, what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know!"

"You're the only one who can know." Flynn paused and steepled his fingers. "How would you approach this if Anastasia was a business associate who had something you wanted?"

"Bully or buy my way into her favor."

"Well, bullying probably won't work, and you said she doesn't want any material possessions from you."

"Then what the fuck can I offer her? What else is there?"

"You can't think of anything else she might like? Anything else she might accept to come back to you?"

Christian rose to stand at the window; one hand in his hair the other on his hip. "I don't know," he murmured frustrated and seriously racked his brain for a plan of attack, but he had nothing.

"What do you think Anastasia really wants, Christian?"

Christian considered the question and felt cold fear creep up his spine again as his hands started to sweat. "More," he muttered. "She wants more."

"So, give her more."

"I don't fucking know how!" Christian spun and tossed his hands out.

"So ask her."

"What?"

"You just said that she has the control, right?"

After a moment, Christian nodded.

"So let her know she has it. Ask her what kind of relationship she wants and if you can, offer to give it to her."

"How do I do that?"

"Tell her how you feel."

"How do I do _that_?"

"You're smart, find a way." Flynn straightened and rose as he glanced at his watch. "Deep down you know what she needs, what she wants to hear. If you can't say it yet, find another way to tell her."

"Do…do you think it will work?"

"I don't see the harm in trying."

Christian lowered his head and bit the inside of his cheek in thought. "I've never felt like this before. I don't know what I'm feeling. I don't…" He thought back to the song Witchcraft he had listened to last night. Maybe there was a way? Could it work? Ana liked music as much as he.

He lifted his gaze and saw Flynn watching him closely. "What?"

"I think it's good that you met this girl, Christian, but I wonder how much of her you want, because you think you don't deserve to have her, and how much of it is genuine affection for her."

"Does it matter?"

Flynn shook his head. "Not at this moment." He pulled open his office door. "Same time next week?"

Christian nodded curtly and retrieved his suit jacket. "See you then."

Flynn held his smile until Christian walked out but he knew the bastard shrink was smiling.

"Fucker," he muttered as he stormed past the receptionist and out of the office.

He took the stairs down the four flights to the ground floor, needing the time to regain a semblance of control. Flynn makes it sound so easy, but it wasn't easy. It wasn't easy at all!

Why couldn't Ana just behave the way he wanted her to? Why couldn't she be like all the other women he had subbed for? He paused in the second floor stairwell and sighed. He didn't want Ana to be like them. He was drawn to her because she wasn't anything like the others. She delighted him and challenged him. She woke desires in him, feelings in him that he believed buried years ago.

She frightened him. Such a small, thin, slip of a girl and he was terrified of her! How ironic was that? She said he intimidated her but by God she intimidated him just as much, with her incredible responses to his touch, her disregard for his wealth and her general outlook over all. Mostly, of course, it was her innocence. He had never been innocent, at least he couldn't remember a time when he felt that way. Ana was so pure and perfect and just so damn beautiful!

He shook his head and continued down. Flynn was right, he needed to fix this. He couldn't go through another night like last night, cowering on the fucking floor like an imbecile. He needed to approach this logically, decisively.

He thought over what Elena had said, and his mother. Perhaps he did care for Ana more than he'd ever cared for anyone before. She said she loved him? Could he use that to keep her with him? He couldn't love her back, he was incapable, but if she cared for him, or at least thought she did, she must be just as miserable as he. Right? Right. Made perfect sense.

However, when one encountered an immovable object one found a way around it. The problem was obviously her unwillingness to be hurt, to submit to the hard limits of his lifestyle, but she enjoyed the playroom. She enjoyed some things he could do to her and he could work with that.

He enjoyed having vanilla sex, it wasn't as exciting as his preferred activities, but it was good, and he liked holding her afterwards. The nightmares stayed away when she was in his arms. Being able to touch Ana, to revel in her responses and claim all of her orgasms as his, that was worth the price of giving up a few of his habits, wasn't it? Yes, by God it was.

He stepped outside and found Taylor waiting by the car for him. He glanced at his watch, just a few minutes after eight am. "Find a florist, Taylor," he ordered as he slid into the back of the car. "Fucking hearts and flowers it is then."

Yes sir," Taylor agreed as he closed the passenger side door and bit his lip to keep from smiling as he hurried around and climbed into the driver's seat.


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to E.L. James

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Author's Notes: Well! Thank you all so very much for the great reviews. I hadn't intended it to go beyond what I have already written, but after some consideration and suggestions from you all, I thought I'd try a few more chapters and see how they pan out. I really hope that you enjoy them as much as you have the others.

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**CHAPTER 6**

Christian set the ear buds in his ears and stepped onto the treadmill as the sounds of Bach - Brandenburg Concertos No.3 blocked out the other sounds of the gym. He was angry, agitated and after what seemed like the longest day of work ever, he decided to stop off at the country club and use the gym to expend some energy. He found the control he had been lacking the last few days, the control that had been stripped of him by Anastasia's leaving. The country club had a segregated gyms for men and women, which he preferred. Anytime he went to a co-op gym he had to deal with women trying to pick him up. The flowers had been delivered, he'd confirmed with the florist. He waited all morning at work and still received no response from Anastasia., before finally taking a break and leaving for the gym. It wasn't like Anastasia not to respond. She always responded when he did something, even if it was to rebuff him, she responded. Sawyer had confirmed that Anastasia had gone to work and made it home safely, so she wasn't ill or hurt. He'd spent twenty minutes picking out those fucking flowers and figuring out what he wanted to fucking say to her on the stupid fucking card and she couldn't even give him the curtsey of saying thank you?

He increased the pace and adjusted the incline on the machine as closed his eyes, wanting, needing to forget, just for a little while. He needed to focus on running, on expelling the tension and the toxins from his body. He tried to lose himself in the music, matched his breaths to the sweeps of the cello, his feet to the flare of the violins. He enjoyed this, running. It freed him from the confines of daily life and, for awhile, the darkness in his soul. He and Taylor went for a five mile jog twice a week, when he wasn't working out with Claude, but he realized that they hadn't been for a few weeks. Not since he met Anastasia. Perhaps he should go tomorrow.

He ran out for an hour then worked out on the weights and machines for another two. He was drenched in sweat by the time he was done, so quickly took a shower and changed into slacks and a polo shirt. He grabbed his gym bag and took the elevator up to the main lobby of the country club. A tall, striking woman with long blond hair and a killer body slid in beside him.

"Good day for a workout," she commented as her eyes drank him in, hungrily.

"Yes." He barely acknowledged her, she wasn't his type at all. His type was sweet brunettes with wide luminous eyes, a penchant for skipping meals and an enchanting giggle. His stomach lurched a little as he thought of Anastasia again.

"You know, there are better ways to burn calories." She moved an inch closer so that her arm touched his and Christian immediately stepped forward, as the elevators door opened.

"So I hear," he muttered and was annoyed when she followed him out into the lobby and offered him her card.

"Here's my number if you want to discuss it."

"Thanks." He turned away without a backwards glance, tossed the card in the first trash receptacle he passed, and ignored the admiring looks of the other women wandering about as he crossed to the main doors.

"Christian!"

His breath whooshed out of his body as hurricane Mia barreled into him. He tensed for half a second, then relaxed almost immediately. He wasn't sure why he never had much trouble with his little sister touching him. Of course, Mia did as she wanted when she wanted and nothing he said would stop her. "Hello Mia."

She released him almost as quickly as she embraced him, draped her arms around his neck and stared up at him. "Hi ya."

He smiled down at her, indulgently. "Hi ya."

"What'cha doin' here?"

She knew it drove him bonkers when she spoke like that. "I was at the gym. You've been chewing on marbles again, I see?"

She shrugged and grinned.

"What are you doing here?"

"Another of Mom's groups that she insists I be part of." She rolled her eyes. "Booorrring." She slid her arms down to encircle his. "Now, if my lovely big brother wanted to take me to lunch, I'd have an excuse not to go..."  
Christian gently removed her arms. "Oh no. I am not getting involved..."

"Christian!" Grace Grey moved across the lobby floor with the ease her given name afforded her and politely kissed both of Christian's cheeks in greeting. "How lovely to see you, darling. Is Anastasia here with you?"

"No."

"Is she hiding?" Mia asked tongue in cheek. "Let's go find her, you and me, Christian..."

"Mia." Grace looked at her daughter sternly. "You know the ladies committee is meeting in a few minutes."

"I don't want to be on a stuffy committee!" She looked at Christian, pleading.

"I'm on enough committees," he tossed and picked up the bag he had dropped when Mia dove at him.

"Are you all right dear, you seem pale?" Grace asked, concerned.

"Fine. Worked out hard, that's all."

"Oh. Have you talked to Anastasia about the benefit..."

"No."

"Oh, but she has to come!" Mia insisted. "It will be totally boring without her there. Please bring her, Christian. Please?"

He was putty against that cute little face, but he couldn't make promises when he had no idea what his future with Anastasia was. For a half of a second he considered telling his mother that he and Anastasia broke up, asking her opinion on what he could do to fix it, but then she would ask why it happened and he couldn't possibly get into the cause. He admired and respected this wonderful woman who raised him so very much. How could he reveal the monster he was? She would cast him out, shun him, and so she should. A woman with her light and goodness should never be privy to the kind of darkness he held inside of him

Well, you see mother, I beat her with a belt because I get off on beating little brown haired girls because I am one fucked up bastard. No, he had to remain hidden, and while he knew that his emotional distance hurt her, he fully believed it was for her own protection.

"Sweetheart?"

"Sorry, Mom. What?"

Grace stepped forward, as if to touch him, then remembered and stepped back. "You look tired."

He smirked. "I just ran six miles."

She managed a smile. "Yes, of course." She extended her hand. "Mia. Come." She peered at Christian as her daughter obediently took her hand. "Get some rest, Christian."

He nodded and was surprised at the genuine regret he felt as he watched them walk away. His lips thinned as he continued across the lobby and out the door. Taylor was waiting for him in the parking lot.

"Back to Grey Tower, Sir?" he asked as he opened the back door for Christian.

"Home." He could get just as much work done from there and he just wasn't in the mood to go back to the office.

He pulled out his blackberry, seven E-mails two voice messages. None of them from Anastasia and he felt depression over-take him. He dealt with them with little effort, and then crooked his fingers against his chin as he watched the passing scenery.

He closed his eyes and a vision of the first time he had taken Anastasia for a ride in this very car came into focus. She was so shy and timid, and so unspeakably beautiful. She didn't see it, he realized, how lovely she was, how easily she attracted the opposite sex. Perhaps that was what drew him to her so desperately; her ignorance of her own beauty.

His phone rang and he glanced at the display before answering it. "Grey."

"Mr. Grey, it's Welch."

"Have you found Leila yet?"

"One of our men sighted her on Church Street late last night, but she managed to disappear again before he could get to her."

"What the hell would she be doing down there?" Christian demanded, concerned. Church Street was known for deviants and prostitutes and no place for a young woman like Leila. He prayed to god she wasn't doing what he imagined she might be doing. "Find her, for fuck's sake! How can one helpless girl outwit a fully trained security team?"

"We're doing our best, Sir."

"I don't want fucking excuses! I want her found." He ended the call, angrily. The idea of Leila wandering the streets, especially in that area of town was horrifying. He closed his eyes as the beginnings of a headache started to form. Fuck! Why did she have to leave her husband? Why couldn't she have stayed away and stayed happy?

She was sweet and gentle, despite their previous relationship, he never treated her the way those prostitutes were treated. It was a rough area of town, she could be raped or beaten or...

_**What you did, his inner demon hissed. They could strip her down to nothing and fuck her seven ways from Tuesday, as you did. Remember, Grey? You're what she needs to stay away from. You're the reason she tried to kill herself. It's all your fault.**_

"I'll find her," he muttered. "I'll find her and take care of her. I'll get her help..."

_**Remember how sweet it felt the first time you whipped her?**_

Christian shook his head and moaned. She enjoyed it. She wanted it. They had an agreement.

_**Remember her tears when you cast her aside because you couldn't love her? Then you hurt Anastasia and she cried too. All you do is make women cry. You're a monster Grey. A monster with money and power, but still a monster.**_

"No," he moaned in despair. he'd thought he had exorcised the demon. Years with John Flynn had finally shut the voice out, now it was back! "She knew...they all knew. I was honest...I told them...It's who I am."

_**You don't want to take care of Leila. You just want to fuck her again, watch her moan and writhe and plead for you to stop.**_

"No!"He just wanted Ana.

_**You are a plague against women. You are the pestilence that scavenges their hearts and bodies. No one loves you. Even the crack whore didn't gvie a shit about you. They are all pretenders, but you can conquer them all, for you are money, you are power. You are The Demon.**_

"Get the fuck out of my head!" he snapped and slapped his hands against his head, pulling hard on his hair as he tried to remember Flynn's instructions. Breathe. In. Out. Close his eyes, listen to his heart beat and softly chanted. "I have control. I have control. No one controls me. I am my own master. I have control."

He had regained control finally and expelled the demon as they pulled into Escala, although now suffered a severe migraine.

His phone rang again as they rode the elevator up he considered not answering it, but then saw that it was Elena and suddenly needed a friend.

"Grey."

"Hello darling. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"You still sound upset."

Christian stepped out of the elevator and headed upstairs to his room. "They still haven't tracked down Leila."

"Oh dear. That poor girl!"

"I'm worried about her, Elena. God knows where she is or what mental state she's in. Anyone could take advantage of her, accost her, confuse her."

"You're doing what you can, Christian. This is not your fault."

"Of course it's my fucking fault!" he snapped as he stormed into his bedroom, crossed to the washroom and pulled open the cabinet over the sink.

"Stop thinking like that. You couldn't know that her lover would die, or how it would affect her."

Christian tossed back to Tylenol 3's and bent down to the sink for a drink of water to wash them down, before straightening again. "Why are you calling?"

"I was worried about you."

"Don't be."

"Did you send Anastasia some flowers."

"Yes." He returned to his room and dropped onto his bed to pull off his shoes and socks, he preferred being in his bare feet.

"And?"

"And…she hasn't responded."

"Oh. Well, don't get discouraged. We women sometimes hold grudges for long periods. She could just be trying to make you suffer, you know, for hurting her."

"She doesn't want me, Elena."

"Of course she does! She'd be a fool not to."

Christian curled his free hand into a fist and moved to stare out the impressive windows that covered most of his bedroom. He was the fool. A fool for ever believing a woman as good and pure as Anastasia would ever want to have anything to do with someone like him. Not once she glimpsed the beast inside of him. Not once she entered his world of darkness.

"What else can I do?" he asked despondently. "I don't know what else I can do, Elena. I've...I've never had this...problem before."

"Oh, Christian, I hate hearing you like this." There was a long pause where they both seemed lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Christian quietly spoke. "I don't deserve her. I can't give her what she needs, what she deserves."

"Christian! Have I taught you nothing?" Elena barked, angrily. "You've just as much right to her as any other man and you deserve to have anything and everything you want."

"I know, but…"

"You want her back, don't you?"

"Yes!"

"Then play to your strengths, darling."

"I…how?" Anastasia wouldn't be bullied. She wouldn't be bought or manipulated. What else was there? What else was he any good at?

"Find a way to reopen communications."

He'd thought of sending her an E-mail a hundred times, but he couldn't think of what to say. And he was afraid she wouldn't respond. Or worse, she'd respond and tell him to go to hell. He couldn't handle that. He couldn't accept that.

"Perhaps you can contact her regarding something you both hold an interest in?"

Christian's gaze immediately thought of the painting in his office as he recalled Anastasia's thoughtful comments. He liked art well enough, but he didn't know if that was really a passion of Anastasia's. She liked literature, but she'd been less than accepting with the books he had sent her in the beginning.

"What are her hobbies?"

He realized that he didn't know what Anastasia's hobbies were, aside from books. It horrified him that he had not bothered to ask her what she liked, he assumed she would just have to like what he did. That was the kind of relationship he was used to. Women did what he wanted, went where he wanted, had sex how he wanted.

"Christian?"

"I don't know," he admitted softly. "She likes books, but…I don't know what else."

How could he promise her more when he knew so little about her? Her background check didn't reveal her hopes and dreams, her likes and dislikes. He knew what she didn't like. She didn't like him spending money on her, which he couldn't for the life of him understand. She didn't like being told what to do, unless it was in the playroom. She didn't like being spanked, but she responded to it so…maybe that was a like.

He groaned and ran his hand through his hair. "This is so fucked up."

"Sweetheart, we have to get you out of this funk. Does she like music?"

"Yes." His eyes widened. "Yes, she does."

"Find some way to open the communications with music then."

"How? You want me to serenade her?"

"Nothing so extreme!" Elena laughed. "Perhaps send her a CD of a band she likes. or tickets to an musical play? Something you think she would enjoy."

Christian wet his lips. He didn't know what her tastes in music were, but she seemed to enjoy the music he used when they...He felt himself grow hard and forced it away. He had to focus. Tickets to a play, no. What if she took someone else? He'd be devastated if she did that. He wouldn't stand for that. Couldn't allow it. The idea of Anastasia with anyone else drove him to a frenzy of rage.

He glanced around his room again and spotted her Mac Book next to his IPOD. An idea formed in his mind. "Elena, I have to go."

"Okay, darling. did I help at all?"

"Yes. Yes you did, thank you." He hung up and immediately searched his contacts for Steve Jobs. He hit contact and waited. "Steve! Christian Grey here. Yes, yes. Good. I'm looking for something specific, maybe you can help me?"


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER : Characters belong to EL James

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Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews, hope you enjoy this chapter as much. Not sure what I can do beyond this one without heavily plajorizing the original story, but thank you for reading. Any suggestions for additional chapters are welcome and I will do my best.

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**CHAPTER 7**

Christinan's intercom buzzed and he glared at it, angry to have been caught brooding, again! He walked around his desk and depressed the button. "Yes?"

"Your father is here, Mr. Grey."

What now? "Send him in."

Christian closed his eyes in frustration, and then pulled himself back from the brink, took several deep breaths and dropped into his chair. He straightened his jacket, ran a hand through his hair and was the image of control when his father entered.

"Christian."

"Hi Dad." He rose to shake his father's hand, and then settled behind his desk again. "What brings you here?"

Carrick Grey smiled, unbuttoned his suit jacket and settled in front of his son. "I just thought we could catch up, we haven't had much time to talk lately."

Christian's eyes narrowed, they rarely talked anyway, what could be so important? "I'm really busy, Dad."

"As am I, but I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"I'd like to talk to you about this…young woman you're seeing."

Beneath his desk Christian's hand curled into a fist as a stab of pain twisted in his gut. Oh, Anastasia. I miss you so very much. His demeanor remained calm and cool as he addressed his father. "What about her?"

"She seems very young."

"She's mature for her age." And he realized it was the truth. Anastasia was naive in some things, but far more mature emotionally than he, far more stable and secure. "You can't possibly be lecturing me on that when you're fourteen years mom's senior."

Carrick shifted slightly. "That's different. Your mother was well into her twenties when I met her."

"I'm not going to discuss this with you, Dad. Who I date is my business."

Carrick held up his hands, peaceably. "Agreed, and I certainly don't disapprove of her, she seems like a lovely young woman."

"I don't require your approval."

"I know that too, but I wanted you to know that you have it anyway. Your mother adores her, as does Mia." Carrick's shoulder's straightened slightly, a sign that he was done with the small talk. "We just want you to be careful, Christian."

"We?"

"Your mother and I."

Christian sat back and carefully crossed one leg over another. "I think mom is just happy Anastasia isn't a man, Dad."

Carrick smirked. "Well…we were a little worried there for awhile."

Christian didn't return his smile. He respected his father more than any other man in the world, but he was not a fan of interference, not even from the man who raised him. He rose. "I have a meeting in ten minutes."

Carrick realized he was being dismissed and while he wouldn't take that from anyone else, Christian was different. They had managed to walk a fine line as father and son, but there was still so much he didn't know about the young boy he had helped raise. So many things he wanted to ask and couldn't, because when you pushed Christian, he shut down or blocked you out.

He couldn't risk hurting Grace by angering their son enough that he walked away from them completely. They barely had contact with him now, except for what Christian deemed was his duty. Grace, Mia, even Elliot had to seek out Christian if they wanted more than the allotted contact, and while he rarely denied them his time when it was requested, he never involved himself with the family more than he had decided was required. He was always holding back from being a full member of the Grey household and that angered and saddened Carrick.

However, Christian had seemed happier and more relaxed than he had ever seen him when he had brought Anastasia Steele to dinner, and that gave him hope that his son was finally opening up and easing out of that damn shell he'd been enclosed in for so long.

"Your mother would like you to come to dinner Saturday, can I tell her you will?"

"No. I will be busy this weekend." But what if he wasn't? What if this thing with Anastasia didn't blow over and he had to spend another weekend alone?

"Well, if your plans change, let us know." This was the man Carrick knew, all of them knew. Anti-social, closed off and caught up in business to the point of obsession. Miss. Steele didn't really stand a chance.

Christian nodded and out of respect, walked his father to his office door and pulled it open. "Thanks for dropping by," he offered to Carrick, more out of duty than actual gratitude.

Carrick nodded and walked away as his assistant glanced at him.

"I've rescheduled all the meetings after two tomorrow for Monday, Mr. Grey."

He looked at her. "Why?"

"The gallery show, in Portland, tomorrow evening. You said you wanted me to reschedule anything later in the afternoon as you would be leaving early."

He stared at her long and hard, until her usually cool demeanor started to crack, and then he suddenly remembered. "Yes. Yes, of course, the photographer. That's fine. Thank you." He firmly closed his office door and caressed his lower lip.

Jose! He'd completely forgotten about the boy's gallery opening. Finally, he had something legitimate that he could contact Anastasia about. Would she still be going? How would she get there, he knew for a fact she hadn't purchased a car yet and was, much to his horror, taking the bus to and from work every day. He shuddered. Public transportation was as magnet for rapists, thugs and perverts and he hated that she was using it at all.

He had been so appalled when he learned of her decision that he immediately assigned another man to follow her, someone she wouldn't recognize, that could make sure no one hassled her and she came to no harm.

He picked up his coffee and drained the remains, agitated. Would the boy be taking her? The idea of that little, over-sexed fucker who had once tried to force his intentions on Anastasia, while she was intoxicated, being anywhere near her infuriated Christian. Surely she wouldn't accept a ride from him? No, the boy was in Portland and he had to be there for the gallery opening, right? He couldn't drive up for her and then drive back on such an important night, right?

But what if he did? The boy had it bad for Anastasia, that was obvious. Or what if some other free-handed prick was picking Anastasia up to bring to the opening as a favor to the boy? What if she intended to stay overnight and call in sick to work? What if the bastard planned to ruffie her with a glass of shit wine? The boy tried to take advantage once before, didn't he? What if that prick raped his Anastasia? Or worse, what if she enjoyed fucking the boy and decided to stay with the little cocksucker?

Christian heard the breaking of his coffee mug before he felt it, and glanced down at the shattered remains in his hand. Thoroughly shaken and growing more furious by the minute he dropped what was left in the trash bin, dusted his shaking hands across his slacks and settled at his computer.

He flexed his fingers as he settled at his desk, opened his E-mail and found the one he had requested for her at SIP.

**From:** Christian Grey

**Subject:** Tomorrow

**Date:** June 8, 2011 14:05

**To:** Anastasia Steele

_Dear Anastasia, _

_Forgive this intrusion at work, I hope that it is going well. Did you get my flowers? If you did, why the fuck haven't you contacted me?_

Christian sighed, shook his head, and deleted the last sentence then continued on.

_I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for that fucker…_

Wincing he deleted the last three words and tried not to seethe over the image of that reprobate shoving his tongue down Anastasia's drunken mouth.

_For your friend's show, and I am sure that you've not had time to purchase a car, _

And you wouldn't take the fucking one I bought you! He ran his hands through his hair and continued.

_and it is a long drive. I will take you, and there will be no further discussion on the matter._

He stared at the E-mail, tried to consider her response to it. She said he intimidated her. That didn't sound intimidating; he was simply making the choice for her so she wouldn't need to worry about it. That wasn't intimidating it was….

"Fuck! Motherfucker, cocksucking son of a crack whore!" He deleted the last sentence and dropped his head into his hands. He couldn't push, if he pushed or assumed she might just tell him to go to hell and he'd have lost his only shot at a second chance. He had to tread carefully, as one would with a wounded animal.

He took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair, then started to type again.

_It would please me to take you._

No. What did she care about pleasing him? He tried again.

_I can't stand this suffering any longer and if you don't come to your senses soon I shall throw myself off the nearest cliff._

He paused.

_Please, please, please give me another chance!_

He shook his head. Far too desperate, but he felt desperate. He was very, very desperate and one word from her could end his suffering. Why was she doing this to him? With a heavy sigh and a lot more swearing he deleted the last two sentences.

_I would be more than happy to take you._

He stared at it for several long minutes, until the words started to blur, then added.

_-should you wish._

Forgive me Anastasia! His heart cried and slowly, with one finger he pecked out.

_Let me know._

He read it over again three more times before hitting send, then sat back in his chair and willed himself to remain calm. That lasted about ten minutes, and then he was up and pacing like a caged tiger.

His intercom buzzed again and his receptionist's voice rang through.

"Mr. Grey, I have Ms. Lincoln is on the ph…"

Christian snaps the intercom button, cutting her off. "Not now!"

"Yes, sir."

Christian dropped back down at his computer and moved his mouse to shut off his screen saver, which was a picture of him and Ana at her graduation. He had ten new E-mails, none of them were from her. He groaned and dropped his head in his hands again. He was too pushy. He should have just asked if she had a ride. He shouldn't have assumed…

He paused in his self-loathing as a new E-mail arrived from Anastasia Steele- Assistant to Jack Hyde, editor. SIP. He stared at it for a full thirty seconds, before he finally clicked on it. He read it through quickly, frowned at her formality, but then shook it off. She wrote back! And she was accepting a ride from him! Holy shit, caution worked!

With this in mind, he quickly typed a reply, asking when he should pick her up, hit send and waited. Five minutes later she replied with the time of the show and asking his opinion for pick up. Two minutes later he had sent a calm, cautious and controlled reply.

"See, I can do this too, Miss. Steele," he muttered and stared at his computer screen until his eyes started to water. It seemed to take forever, but it was only a few minutes when her e-mail appeared and he opened it up.

**From:** Anastasia Steele

**Subject:** Tomorrow

**Date:** June 8, 2011 14:38

**To:** Christian Grey

_See you then._

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor. SIP._

Christian traced the three simple words on the screen. He would see Ana tomorrow. She was willing to let him take her to the boy's show. It was a long drive to Portland, but that would give them plenty of time to talk.

Shit! How would he explain what he felt? How could he convince her to come back to him? Things she likes. What did she like, besides him? Charlie Tango! He could fly her to Portland, she'd enjoy that, maybe it would give her incentive to forgive him? But then they couldn't talk. He frowned.

He thought of the item Steve Jobs had recommended and an idea formed in his mind. Yes! There was a way!

Suddenly he rose, grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and shrugged into it as he strode across his office to the door. "Cancel my appointments for the day," he announced as he exited his office and strode to the elevator. There was so much to do and so little time! "I'll be back in the office tomorrow, reschedule whatever you can."


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to E.L. James

_**WARNING: The following chapter includes graphic sexual scenes and the abuse/torture of a child. This is for the soul purpose of understanding Christian's fifty shades, however if this subject mater makes you uncomfortable, do not read this chapter.**_

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AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, I did not mean to write anything further, but so many of you have asked that I do, so here is another chapter! I am not at all sure about it, but I hope you will all let me know if it doesn't flow with the rest of the story or meet your previous standards. Thank you again for your wonderful support and I hope you all enjoy it.

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**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"_Crawl in there, baby. Don't make a sound. You have to be quiet, okay?"_

_I crawl under the space in the sink and mommy closes the door. I clutch my blanket and hold my breath so I won't make a sound. The door opens and heavy thumps cross the room. I can hear talking, but it's grown up talk, I don't know many words yet. Then I hear the creak of mommy's bed and she makes the strange sounds, the sounds that make me afraid she is being hurt._

_Later are the wet sounds and the patty-cake sounds. I know what patty-cake sounds are. I've heard and seen the pretty man play patty-cake with mommy. It isn't the same way mommy sometimes plays patty-cake with me, it's patty-cake for grownups._

_Mommy is screaming and the man sounds like our neighbor's dog when he is has to pee and they won't let him outside. I start to laugh, but I put my hand on my mouth because I have to be quiet. Soon everything is quiet and I hear the heavy thumps again, then the door. I wait and I wait but mommy doesn't come to get me, I have to wait until she comes to get me._

_I think she has gone to sleep and forgot about me. She does that sometimes, so I open the cupboard door and peek out. I can't see her, so I go to the small room where we both sleep. The bed is on the floor and Mommy is on it. Her eyes are closed and she doesn't have anything on._

_I crawl up beside her. I'm so hungry, but I don't want to wake mommy. I put my blanky on her and hear the door open again._

_I run to Mommy's closet, I know I am supposed to hide, but I can see through the small whole in the door. It's the pretty man that comes a lot to see mommy and another man._

_The pretty man pulls mommy's hair and she cries out._

"_Time to work, bitch!"_

"_I just did…"_

"_Now I need my take." _

_The pretty man pulls down his pants and shoves his pee stick into mommy's mouth. Is he going to pee in mommy's mouth? I make a sound of wonder, before I can stop it, and suddenly the door is pulled open and the other man is staring at me._

"_What do we have here?" He pulls me out, he hurts me, and he smells bad._

"_Mommy!"_

"_It's just her fuckin' kid."_

"_More like a peeping tom, you ask me." The smelly man starts touching me. "You learning the trade, baby boy?" He pulls my shirt off, please don't take my shirt! I'm so cold! No! Stop! Don't touch me!_

"_You like to watch, hey kid." the pretty man has glow stick in his mouth, but it doesn't fall when he talks. "You like this, huh?"_

_He grabs mommy by the hair and starts to hurt her with his stick. Mommy is crying and he hits her and she cries more, then he's putting his stick in mommy's bum! I shake my head and try to pull away from the hands that hold me. "Mommy!"_

"_This is what men and women do," the pretty man grins. "This is how they like it." He hits mommy on the bum and she cries out. He hits her harder and harder, but doesn't stop putting his stick in her. Then he pulls the bad thing from his pocket, the thing mommy puts in her arm sometimes that makes her so sad, and he sticks it in Mommy's leg. She stops crying and makes other sounds._

"_Mommy!" I break free and bite down on the pretty man's leg. He roars and then pain and I am on the floor._

"_Little fucker!" The pretty man moves away from mommy and stands over me. "Hold him down!"_

_I can't move! The smelly man has my arms and the pretty man that was hurting mommy has my legs. I can't move! I can't move and I can't run and Mommy isn't helping me! Why isn't Mommy helping me? I turn my head to her, and see her curled on the floor, watching me, but she isn't helping me. She has the sad look again and I know she isn't going to help me._

_I start to cry and my eyes grow wider as the pretty man pulls the glow stick from his mouth._

"_Maybe this will shut you up."_

_I scream as he puts the glow skin to my tummy. I scream again and again and again._

"_I'm gonna do it until you learn, boy. I'm gonna hurt you 'till you shut up."_

_I'm still screaming as they roll me over and the pain starts again, and I stare at my mommy, on the floor and humming now. Then, I have no voice. I am quiet. I don't want to hurt anymore, but it did hurt, everything hurt, but I am quiet and I stay quiet as the pain comes again._

Christian bolted up in his bed, twisting, thrashing, pushing and slapping at phantom burns and calloused hands, until he fell to the floor in a tangle of covers and sheets. His mouth was open, but no sound came and he grew panicked as reality invaded the rest of his dream state.

No! No! He needed to speak! He had to speak! Mommy! Ana! Gail! Tayor!

All that came out was a croak and suddenly a horrible wave of claustrophobia hit him. He stumbled from the floor and threw himself out into the terrace, gripping the rail to gasp in the late evening air, desperate to find his voice, his control.

His hand massaged his chest. The pain was still there, after all this time he still couldn't forget the feel of that fucking cigarette. He didn't remember what happened after that, perhaps he had passed out from shock. He remembered other people coming and going but he didn't speak to any of them. Then left alone, with only the silence of his breathing, the grumbling of his empty belly, and the smell of a dead crack whore. He'd been told it had been days, but it felt like weeks, months that he waited for someone to find him.

When Grace had found him, rescued him, he couldn't say thank you, couldn't tell them of the things that the pimp and his friend had done; the horror of it. He hated not being able to speak, but his fear had been all consuming and it took him years to get past it, to find the control to fight the fear. By the time he was talking, he had shoved that horror down so deep he hadn't told anyone.

He leaned heavily against the rail and dipped his head, exhausted. Grace and Carrick knew, they had seen the scars and where he had been living, but they had never made him talk about it to them. To the other shrinks, yes, but he hadn't even told them all that had happened. Not until John Flynn had he felt safe enough to explore the horror of his own childhood.

He cleared his throat several times and tried to say something, but still nothing would come out. Fuck! He needed to calm down, his heart was threatening to break from his chest and a thin sheen of sweat dotted the neck of his T-shirt. His stomach clenched from the memory of that hungry, forgotten boy and he tried to will the feeling away.

Finally, feeling secure enough to stand without the support of the railing, he returned to his bedroom, cast a loathing glance at the wrecked bed and the digital clock on his night stand that read 3:45 AM, then turned and left the room. He needed a drink and something to eat. And the piano. Yes, that would help loosen his vocal cords and rid him of this bullshit fear.

He descended the stairs, paused at his playroom and briefly entertained the idea of going inside and using one of the belts or canes on himself. Pain often helped him find control, which he was desperate for right now, but as he touched the door he was assailed by the vision of Anastasia's outrage, horror and tears. No. He didn't want to go in there. He couldn't go in there.

He entered the kitchen and found Mrs. Jones pouring a glass of milk. Her hair was down and fell to the middle of her back, her face bare of make-up and her terry-cloth robe knotted securely about her waist.

"Mr. Grey!" she said, surprised. "I didn't know you were awake. Did you need me to fix you something?"

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, a thousand curses formed, but none could get past that damn blockage in his throat. He pointed to the carton of milk and she nodded and quickly poured him a glass.

She handed him the milk. "Is there anything else, Sir?"

Yes! He was fucking hungry! He shook his head annoyed that he couldn't ask for something and unwilling to let her see him struggle.

"Well, good-night then." She picked up her milk, then paused and looked back at him. "Oh, I almost forgot, can't have milk without cookies." She set her glass down on the counter and reached for a Tupperware container of homemade cookies. She pulled out two, then discreetly left the lid off and picked up her milk again. "Good night, Mr. Grey."

He watched her disappear down the corridor towards her private rooms, and once she was gone he retrieved four of the cookies then headed into the great room. He settled on the sofa, drank his milk and ate his cookies hungrily. His dreams always brought back that hideous emptiness of starvation.

Finally sated, he rose and moved to the piano. He needed to rid himself of the dream. He needed to regain his control, and he hoped that after so many days of not being able to play, the ability would return to him.

He settled on the bench and gently rested his hands against the black and white keys. Slowly, he began to play, a simple Bach composition that would warm up his fingers after so long away. Then he moved on to something harder.

Mrs. Jones listened sadly to her employer play as she snapped the cover back on the cookies. The piece was wonderfully energetic; hopeful, angry, magical and extreme and Mr. Grey played it as well as the original composer, she wagered He was so very talented on the piano, could easily have been a concert pianist if he had chosen, but she knew that whenever he played it was to run away from something, usually himself.

She enjoyed working for Mr. Grey. He was a good employer, loyal, generous and so what if he did have a hard time letting anyone close to him? She approved of the strict code of conduct that he demanded. She was fond of having rules, rules helped keep order and she had been married to a military man for fifteen years before he died over seas, so Mr. Grey, while not a walk in the park, was no hardship to get used to.

When she had first seen Anastasia Steele, she had worried Mr. Grey would chew her up and spit her out. She didn't think the slight, innocent looking thing would come away unscathed. Not that Mr. Grey ever meant to hurt the women he used, which was an accurate term, considering his past relationships. He used women to fill a need, for that seemed to be the only way he could relate to them. The women he chose were always willing to play his games and abide by his rules, and he always took very good care of them. He cared for them, in the only way he could, by tending to them, buying them pretty things, and fulfilling their simplest wishes.

In the end, however, the relationships always came to a close, and for several of the women it was bittersweet. They almost always ended up falling for Mr. Grey, and Mrs. Jones couldn't blame them. Nor could she blame Mr. Grey for denying affection beyond what was agreed. None of those women had been right for him. None of them understood him, or were willing to sacrifice, really sacrifice for him.

Still, she was a little disappointed that Anastasia hadn't lasted. She liked that girl and she was good for Mr. Grey. Unlike the others, Mr. Grey had not been distraught at ending past relationships, but with Anastasia Steele things had…changed. Perhaps there would be more to come, but for now, she would go about her duties and listen with a heavy heart as the man she was so very fond of poured his heart out on the piano.

Christian's fingers flew over the keys to Beethoven's-23rd, Appassoionata Sonata, a fast, complex piece that took all of his concentration and left no room for anything else. He sighed in relief as the music carried him away to that special place where nothing could touch him. Where there was no anger, no desperation. No sadness and pain. And no Anastasia.

He finished the piece on that last thought and stared at the white and black keys, now silent beneath his fingers. He glanced towards the windows and saw that the sun was coming up. It was Thursday, he reminded himself, and tonight was Jose's opening. A few more hours and he would see Anastasia and his breath hitched in his chest at the thought.

He had to win her back. It frightened him how afraid he was of being alone now, when before he had always preferred it. He had tasted her goodness and her light, she had kept the nightmares at bay and he needed her back to maintain his control. He had to make her understand that. He would do anything for her to understand that

He was still angry over what happened in the playroom. If only she had trusted him. If only he hadn't pushed…but she'd said she was ready. She wanted him to do what he had done, but why hadn't she used her safe word? Why hadn't she trusted him to stop when she asked?

They had discussed it in detail, the use of safe words, the hard limits. All Anastasia had to do was use her safe word. Instead, she let him hurt her beyond what she could take and he never wanted that. He never ever wanted to hurt someone more than they could handle. That wasn't what it was about, not for him. But, that was what he knew. That was all he knew and he explained that to Anastasia multiple times.

Physical pain didn't affect him. He'd cured that affliction during his time with Elena, and his other submissive enjoyed the pain as much perhaps even more, at times, than he enjoyed giving it. Anastasia had wanted to know how bad it could get and so he had shown her. He had done as she asked, but he should have known better. She wasn't like his other submissive and the loss of her had left him with this other kind of pain; a gripping, tight, all over internal hurt that he couldn't get used to. He didn't know how to handle the kind of agony his body ached with.

Anastasia wanted more. They all wanted more, but for her, he was considering…more. Yet the idea of learning something else, being something else was…terrifying. What else? What else could he do? Who else could he be, but what he was? It had taken him so many years to become the man he was, so many years of learning to live with the darkness inside of him instead of trying to out-run it, but now the darkness threatened to consume him again. Without Anastasia, he realized, it would consume him again.

What did he want? Flynn had asked him. He wanted Anastasia, but she had left him. What was he going to do about it? He was going to change. He had to change. For her, he would change, he just needed her to understand how hard that change would be.

He needed her to be patient and to listen to him and above all to trust him with her feelings. He couldn't understand how she felt if she didn't talk to him. He didn't understand how anyone felt most of the time, but with her especially, he always felt like he was standing on a precipice that he could fall off at any moment if he did or said the wrong thing.

He thought about the IPAD he'd set up for her and wondered if she would accept it. She was so damn stubborn about accepting anything from him and it infuriated him. The IPAD was fully loaded with every application or website that her chosen career path might find useful and he had also added several songs to it as well. Songs they had shared and songs that made him think of her. He couldn't give her the words…the hearts and flowers, she longed for, but he always believed music was a form of communication, so perhaps she would understand what he was trying to offer her through the songs he had selected.

He glanced down at the piano again and sighed. "Ana," he said quietly and closed his eyes in relief that his voice had returned. This was what she did for him, even the thought of her, freed him from his fears, his demons.

He rose and headed back upstairs, feeling in control once again and decided to go into the office early so he could afford some free, uninterrupted time with Anastasia tonight.

He climbed the stairs and entered his bedroom, only mildly surprised to find that his bed had been stripped and remade with new sheets. "Ah, Mrs. Jones." She was his guardian angel. He ran a hand through his hair and moved towards the washroom with a mental reminder to give that woman a raise.


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to E.L. James

**Author's Notes:** A lot of people have been requesting more on this story, especially Christian's POV when he and Ana meet up again for the first time after their break up and when he sees her photos in the gallary. I did not want to do that scene because it would have been difficult (and frankly redundant) as I would have had to include a lot of the original material you have already ready in Fifty Shades Darker. I found a way around it, although it does still include some dialogue and the E- mails, and I hope you approve. Just a quick snippet really, but something extra nonetheless.

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**CHAPTER NINE**

"Good night, Christian."

Christian smiled as his heart flipped over in his chest at the way she said his name. He had never cared for people outside his family to use his given name but it always thrilled him when Anastasia did. The urge to pick her up, right there, carry her up to her apartment and make love to her until dawn almost overwhelmed him, and he sensed she wanted it too, but he had to take this slowly. She was offering him a second chance and he had to be careful. He needed her to learn to communicate with him, to tell him what she needed and wanted so that they didn't have a repeat of last Saturday.

His need grew as she stood, reluctant to go inside, reluctant to be away from him and he had to force himself to make her go, before he took her there in the damn lobby. "In you go," he ordered gently and, finally, she turned away and headed through the lobby, carrying the box he have given her. Her retreating back was slumped slightly and he felt the need to reassure her somehow. "Laters baby!" She shot him a shy smile and he immediately knew he had made the right choice in waiting.

It still took every ounce of his willpower to turn away from her and return to the car, and once they were driving away, his mind raced over their conversation and all that it meant. He leaned into the lush, leather interior and immediately missed the warmth of her body. She had surprised him by climbing onto his lap and he'd experienced a fierce moment of panic, afraid she would touch his chest, but she kept her hands above his neck and just snuggled into him.

He hadn't wanted to wake her, and waited until almost the last possible moment. She fit so perfectly in his lap, smelled so lovely and familiar. He could have sat with her like that all night, she looked so blissfully innocent in sleep, so soft and carefree. No other woman had ever sat on his lap before, he would never have allowed it, but he could hardly keep Anastasia off him, it seemed, and nor did he want to, despite his issues with being touched. It was where she belonged, beside him, atop him, wrapped around him, and he wanted to give her more of that, more of him.

He was still reeling that she had accepted his proposition. He'd been so nervous, so afraid she would laugh in his face, or worse, simply tell him she couldn't live with his fifty shades. He couldn't recall a time he had ever felt that nervous, that afraid of someone refusing him. He would have said anything to get her back, done anything, and she tried to make him out to be some sort of saint for it. She obviously didn't realize how much he needed her. He didn't care about what he had to give up, there was nothing he wouldn't sacrifice to have her with him. That didn't make him a saint, or even a good man, it just made him selfish. He wanted Anastasia, needed her, and he meant to keep her this time.

He almost laughed at the turn his life had taken. Him, Christian T. Grey, in a normal, vanilla relationship, actively pursuing a woman who refused negotiations or contracts or rules. A woman that played havoc with his control when he was with her, and absolutely shattered it when she was not. The lesser of two evils, he supposed. He would never have seen himself in this place, wanting a woman to stay with him beyond a three month period. Wanting to please a woman so badly that he didn't even consider his own needs.

When he thought of the horrible week he'd just suffered, thought how much Anastasia must have suffered as well, it angered and frustrated him. All she had to do was use her safe words, or just tell him what she felt instead of asking him to show her. He didn't want to scare her or intimidate her, and it was hell knowing that he had.

Seeing those candid shots of her that the boy had taken had shaken him to the core. Who was that woman, he had thought? Who was that beautiful, care-free, vulnerable and high-spirited woman in black and white. It was not the Anastasia he was used to and that knowledge pierced his soul in a way he had never before experienced. he wanted to see her smile like that, laugh like that, and he meant to do all that he could to see that she would, from this day forward.

Yet, by the same token, he did not want anyone else to see his Ana in such unguarded states. Watching the other men in the gallery ogle her portraits, some of them practically salivating over them, he knew that he had to have them; all of them. She truly had no idea the effect she had on the male species, but he did. he saw it every time they went out. Every time the boy, Jose looked at her, or that fellow from the hardware store where she worked. They all desired her, coveted her and she was oblivious to them, to her own beauty.

He couldn't let some stranger take home one of those portraits and start fantasizing about his Anastasia. What if they tried to meet with her? What if she agreed and they seduced her? She was so damn easy to seduce! Not that she was a whore, not like his mother, not in any way like her, she was just unfamiliar with her body, with her own needs. The idea of anyone else touching Anastasia...

His hands curled into fists at his sides as his stomach clenched tightly. A wave of nausea hit him followed by a wave of rage. What if she left him again, this time for someone normal? Someone who wasn't fifty shades of fucked up? Or worse, someone who was worse than he was. What if they hurt her? She was so naive sometimes, what if she ended up in an abusive relationship like the one Elena had been in? He couldn't risk that! He wouldn't let her walk out on him again. He would do whatever he had to, to keep her with him, to keep her safe!

He was startled when his blackberry buzzed and he pulled it from the holder on his belt. A smile spread across his face and a warm flush across his body, washing his rage, sickness and panic instantly.

**From:** Anastasia Steele

**Subject:** IPAD

**Date:** June 9, 2011 23:56

**To:** Christian Grey

_You've made me cry again._

_I love the iPad._

_I love the songs._

_I love the British Library App._

_I love you._

_Thank you._

_Good night._

_Ana XX_

Christian grinned and traced his fingers over the words 'I love you' highlighted them and saved them as a memo. Finally! No balks about the cost or being unnecessary, she just accepted it graciously. Why couldn't she do that with everything he gave her? Obviously he had to create some sort of plausible idealistic connotation to the gifts and she would accept them. He silently filed that way for future and re-read her E-mail again, before composing one of his own.

**From:** Christian Grey

**Subject:** IPAD

**Date:** June 10, 2011 00:03

**To:** Anastasia Steele

_I'm glad you like it. I bought one for myself._

_Now, if I were there I would kiss away your tears._

_But I'm not- so go to sleep._

_Christian Grey_

_CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc__._

He was delighted with her next E-mail; Mr. Grumpy indeed! She would never know the effort it took not to tell Taylor to turn the car around after her invitation to ease his tension, but he'd made his decision and would stick by it. In his reply, he reminded her that she could still be spanked and urged her to go to sleep, hinting at a demanding day tomorrow when they were together again.

Her next E-mail practically melted him into the leather seats and left him speechless. How she could touch him so deeply? Stir such passion in him and shock him with just a few words on a screen? It was, in all sincerity, quite alarming.

He replied with the only thought that managed to push through the cascade of desire, fear, adulation and wonder her words inspired.

**From:** Christian Grey

**Subject:** One more request

**Date:** June 10, 2011 00:15

**To:** Anastasia Steele

_Dream of me._

_x_

_Christian Grey_

_CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._

When they arrived at Escala, Christian bounded from the car with an energy that he hadn't felt in...well, forever. They rode the elevator up in silence, and then stepped into the apartment. Mrs. Jones would already have retired for the night and he knew that he should let Taylor go as well, however instead of dismissing him he turned to the older man and smiled.

"Care for a beer, Taylor?"

His head of security blinked once before nodding. "I would, thank you, Sir."

Christian strode into the kitchen and pulled out two imported beers, twisted the cap off and handed one to Taylor. He leaned against the counter. "I won't need you for the rest of the night, but I would like you to do something for me in the morning." He took a long swallow of beer before continuing. "I want all the canes, belts and paddles removed from the playroom. Also the whips and all, but the leather flogger are to go."

Taylor and Mrs. Jones both knew his tastes and had both signed non-disclosure agreements. He didn't flaunt his lifestyle, but both members of his staff knew what his playroom contained, hell Taylor had purchased half the equipment on his order. The only reason he kept it locked was due to his own need for control and in case his family ever came by. He certainly didn't want his mother, or worse, Mia, stumbling in there when he wasn't looking. After four years, he trusted both Taylor and Mrs. Jones not to betray him.

"Yes, Sir." Taylor nodded and hid his surprise well. "Should I put them in storage?"

"No." Christian paused and stared at the bottle in his hand, thoughtfully. He preferred wine, but he would keep that for when Anastasia returned; and she would return. She would come back to him, to Escala, and he would give her wine and feed her and get some of that weight back on her, and then they would fuck like rabbits until they were both exhausted and he would continue to find ways to keep her with him. "Get rid of them. I don't care where you put them, but get them out of here." He was surprised at how good it felt to say those words, and reminded himself to discuss the feeling with Flynn at their next session. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

He turned around, spotted the container of cookies from last night and pulled off the lid, missing the look of shock in Taylor's eyes, and then the small smile that started to edge the corners of the older man's mouth.

"I'll see to it," Taylor assured, his expression blank once again as Christian popped a cookie in his mouth and held one out to Taylor before replacing the lid.

"Damn, these are good." Christian lifted his beer to Taylor as he started across the kitchen towards the stairs. "Night, Taylor."

"Good night, Sir." Taylor watched as his employer headed upstairs, munching on a cookie and sipping his beer, then took a bite of his cookie and grinned.

Christian set his beer on his nightstand and peeled off his clothes, pausing at his shirt he held it to his face and inhaled the sweet scent of Anastasia's mild perfume that was trapped there. His response was immediate and almost painful. He dropped his clothes down the laundry chute for Mrs. Jones' to wash, just because he employed a housekeeper didn't mean he had to be a slob.

His erection continued to throb and his hands itched to touch himself, but he wanted Anastasia's hands and so forced himself to refrain. Instead, he headed into the washroom, turned the shower on and stepped under the freezing cold spray until all sexual urges were dispelled. He washed and stepped out, shivering, but no longer horny. He returned to his room and changed into his pajamas, then slid beneath the crisp clean sheets and picked up his blackberry. He had twenty new work E-mails and notifications, and three missed calls; all from Elena.

He had put the phone on silent while he was with Anastasia, as he hadn't wanted any interruption of his time with her. It was too late to call Elena back now, but he listened to her messages and scowled at the slight neediness in her tone. He put it down to her being worried about him, as the last time they had talked he had not been in the best shape, so naturally she might be disturbed that he had not called her back.

He shrugged and looked over the E-mails from Anastasia again, smiling as he read them, then finally he switched it off, set it on his nightstand, clicked off his light and lay back in the bed. Dream of me, he had requested of Ana, now he hoped he would dream of her. For the first time in his life, Christian Grey looked forward to sleep, and drifted off moments later to dream of the woman he adored.


End file.
